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DOROTHY DALE’S 
ENGAGEMENT 


BY 

MARGARET PENROSE 

AUTHOR OF “DOROTHY DALE I A GIRL OF TO-DAY,” “DOROTHY 
DALE AT GLENWOOD SCHOOL,” “DOROTHY DALE IN 
SHE CITY,” “THE MOTOR GIRLS SERIES,” ETC. 


ILLUSTRATED 


NEW YORK 

CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY 




. 

__ 

BOOKS BY MARGARET PENROSE 


l2mo. Cloth. Illustrated. Price, per volume, 
75 cents, postpaid 


THE DOROTHY DALE SERIES 

DOROTHY DALE: A GIRL OF TO-DAY 
DOROTHY DALE AT GLENWOOD SCHOOL 
. — DOROTHY DALE’S GREAT SECRET 
- ^— DOROTHY DALE AND HER CHUMS 
DOROTHY DALE’S QUEER HOLIDAYS 
DOROTHY DALE’S CAMPING DAYS 
DOROTHY DALE’S SCHOOL RIVALS 
DOROTHY DALE IN THE CITY 
DOROTHY DALE’S PROMISE 
DOROTHY DALE IN THE WEST 
DOROTHY DALE’S STRANGE DISCOVERY 
DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 


THE MOTOR GIRLS SERIES 

THE MOTOR GIRLS 
THE MOTOR GIRLS ON A TOUR 
THE MOTOR GIRLS AT LOOKOUT BEACH 
THE MOTOR GIRLS THROUGH NEW 
ENGLAND 

THE MOTOR GIRLS ON CEDAR LAKE 
THE MOTOR GIRLS ON THE COAST 
THE MOTOR GIRLS ON CRYSTAL BAY 
THE MOTOR GIRLS ON WATERS BLUE 
THE MOTOR GIRLS AT CAMP SURPRISE 
THE MOTOR GIRLS IN THE MOUNTAINS 

Cupples & Leon Co., Publishers, New York 


Copyright, 15*7, by 
CUPPLES & LEON .COMPANY 


DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 


APR -4 1917 


©CI.A457786 








CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I. “Alone in a Great City” . i 

II. G. K. to the Rescue.17 

III. Tavia in the Shade.26 

IV. Something About “G. Knapp”.32 

V. Dorothy Is Disturbed.40 

VI. Something of a Mystery.47 

VII. Garry Sees a Wall Ahead.57 

VIII. And Still Dorothy Is Not Happy .... 66 

IX. They See Garry’s Back.72 

X. “Heart Disease”.78 

XI. A Bold Thing to Do!.84 

XII. Uncertainties.02 

XIII. Dorothy Makes a Discovery.101 

XIV. Tavia Is Determined.109 

XV. The Slide on Snake Hill.116 

XVI. The Fly in the Amber.127 

XVII. “Do You Understand Tavia?”.135 

XVIII. Cross Purposes.141 

XIX. Wedding Bells in Prospect.147 

XX. A Girl of To-Day.154 

XXI. The Bud Unfolds.162 

XXII. Dorothy Decides.169 























CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

XXIII. Nat Jumps at a Conclusion. 179 

XXIV. Thin Ice.188 

XXV. Garry Balks.200 

XXVI. Serious Thoughts.207 

XXVII. “It’s All Off!”. 213 

t' 

XXVIII. The Castaways.225 

XXIX. Something Amazing. 235 

XXX. So It Was All Settled.243 










DOROTHY DALE’S 
ENGAGEMENT 

CHAPTER I 
“alone in a great city” 

“Now, Tavia!” 

“Now, Dorothy!” mocked Octavia Travers, 
making a little face as she did so; but then, Tavia 
Travers could afford to “make faces,” possessing 
as she did such a naturally pretty one. 

“We must decide immediately,” her chum, Dor¬ 
othy Dale, said decidedly, “whether to continue 
in the train under the river and so to the main 
station, or to change for the Hudson tube. You 
know, we can walk from the tube station at Twen¬ 
ty-third Street to the hotel Aunt Winnie always 
patronizes.” 

“With these heavy bags, Doro?” 

“Only a block and a half, my dear Tavia. You 
are a strong, healthy girl.” 

“But I do so like to have people do things for 
me,” sighed Tavia, clasping her hands. “And 
taxicabs are so nice.” 

“And expensive,” rejoined Dorothy. 

i 


2 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 


“Of course. That is what helps to make them 
nice,” declared Tavia. “Doro, I just love to 
throw away money!” 

“You only think you do, my dear,” her chum 
said placidly. “Once you had thrown some of 
your own money away—some of that your father 
sent you to spend for your fall and winter outfit— 
you would sing a different tune.” 

“I don’t believe I would—not if by throwing it 
away I really made a splurge, Doro,” sighed 
Tavia. “I love money.” 

“You mean, you love what money enables us to 
have.” 

“Yep,” returned the slangy Tavia. “And taxi¬ 
cab rides eat up money horribly. We found that 
out, Doro, when we were in New York before, 
that time—before we graduated from dear old 
Glenwood School.” 

“But this isn’t getting us anywhere. To re- 


“ ‘Revenons a nos moutonsV Sure! I know,” 
gabbled Tavia. “Let us return to our mutton. 
He, he! Have I forgotten my French?” 

“I really think you have,” laughed Dorothy 
Dale. “Most of it. And almost everything else 
you learned at dear old Glenwood, Tavia. But, 
quick! Decide, my dear. How shall we enter New 
York City? We are approaching the Manhat¬ 
tan Transfer.” 



‘ALONE IN A GREAT CITY’ 


3 


“Mercy! So quick?” 

“Yes. Just like that.” 

“I tell you,” whispered Tavia, suddenly becom¬ 
ing confidential, her sparkling eyes darting a 
glance ahead. “Let’s leave it to that nice man.” 

“Who? What man do you mean, Tavia?” de¬ 
manded Dorothy, her face at once serious. “Do 
try to behave.” 

“Am behaving,” declared Tavia, nodding. 
“But I’m a good sport. Let’s leave it to him.” 

“Whom do you mean?” 

“You know. That nice, Western looking young 
man who opened the window for us that time. He 
is sitting in that chair just yonder. Don’t you 
see?” and she indicated a pair of broad should¬ 
ers in a gray coat, above which was revealed a 
well-shaped head with a thatch of black hair. 

“Do consider!” begged Dorothy, catching Ta- 
via’s hand as though she feared her chum was 
about to get up to speak to this stranger. “This 
is a public car. We are observed.” 

“Little silly!” said Tavia, smiling upon her 
chum tenderly. “You don’t suppose I would do 
anything so crude—or rude—as to speak to the 
gentleman? ‘Fie! fie! fie for shame! Turn your 
back and tell his name!’ And you don’t know it, 
you know you don’t, Doro.” 

Dorothy broke into smiles again and shook her 
head; her own eyes, too, dancing roguishly. 


4 


DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 


“I only know his initials,” she said. 

“What?” gasped Tavia Travers in something 
more than mock horror. 

“Yes. They are ‘G. K.’ I saw them on his 
bag. Couldn’t help it,” explained Dorothy, now 
laughing outright. “But decide, dear! Shall we 
change at Manhattan Transfer?” 

“If he does—there!” chuckled Tavia. “We’ll 
get out if the nice Western cowboy person does. 
Oh! he’s a whole lot nicer looking than Lance 
Peterby.” 

“Dear me, Tavia! Haven’t you forgotten 
Lance yet?” 

“Never!” vowed Tavia, tragically. “Not till 
the day of my death—and then some, as Lance 
would himself say.” 

“You are incorrigible,” sighed Dorothy. 
Then: “He’s going to get out, Tavia!” 

“Oh! oh! oh!” crowed her chum, under her 
breath. “You were looking.” 

“Goodness me!” returned Dorothy, in some ex¬ 
asperation. “Who could miss that hat?” 

The young man in question had put on his 
broad-brimmed gray hat. He was just the style 
of man that such a hat became. 

The young man lifted down the heavy suitcase 
from the rack—the one on which Dorothy had 
seen the big, black letters, “G. K.” He had a sec¬ 
ond suitcase of the same description under his 


‘ALONE IN A GREAT CITY 5 


5 


feet. He set both out into the aisle, threw his 
folded light overcoat over his arm, and prepared 
to make for the front door of the car as the train 
began to slow down. 

“Come on, now!” cried Tavia, suddenly in a 
great hurry. 

But Dorothy had to put on her coat, and to 
make sure that she looked just right in the mirror 
beside her chair. All Tavia had to do was to toss 
her summer fur about her neck and grab up her 
traveling bag. 

“We’ll be left!” she cried. “The train doesn’t 
stop here long.” 

“You run, then, and tell them to wait,” Dor¬ 
othy said calmly. 

They were, however, the last to leave the car— 
the last to leave the train, in fact—at the elevated 
platform which gives a broad view of the New 
Jersey meadows. 

“My goodness me!” gasped Tavia, as the 
brakeman helped them to the platform, and waved 
his hand for departure. “My goodness me! 
We’re clear at this end of this awful platform, 
and the tube train stops—and of course starts— 
at the far end. A mile to walk with these bags 
and not a redcap in sight. Oh, yes! there’s one,” 
she added faintly. 

“Redcap?” queried Dorothy. “Oh! you mean 
a porter.” 


6 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 


“Yes,” Tavia said. “Of course you would be 
slow. Everybody’s got a porter but us.” 

Dorothy laughed mellowly. “Who’s fault do 
you intimate it is?” she asked. “We might have 
been the first out of the car.” 

“He y s got one,” whispered Tavia. 

Oddly enough her chum did not ask “Who?” 
this time. She, too, was looking at the back of the 
well-set-up young man whose initials seemed to 
be G. K. He stood confronting an importunate 
porter, whose smiling face was visible to the girls 
as he said: 

“Why, Boss, yo’ can’t possibly kerry dem two 
big bags f’om dis end ob de platfo’m to de odder.” 

The porter held out both hands for the big 
suitcases carried by the Western looking young 
man, who really appeared to be physically much 
better able to carry his baggage than the negro. 

“I don’t suppose two-bits has anything to do 
with your desire to tote my bag?” suggested the 
white man, and the listening girls knew he must 
be smiling broadly. 

“Why, Boss, yo’ can’t earn two-bits carryin’ 
bags yere; but I kin,” and the negro chuckled de¬ 
lightedly as he gained possession of the bags. 
“Come right along, Boss.” 

As the porter set off, the young man turned and 
saw Dorothy Dale and Tavia Travers behind 
him. Besides themselves, indeed, this end of the 


‘ALONE IN A GREAT CITY’ 


7 


long cement platform was clear. Other passen¬ 
gers from the in-bound train had either gone for¬ 
ward or descended into the tunnel under the 
tracks to reach the north-side platform. The only 
porter in sight was the man who had taken G. K.’s 
bags. 

The weight of the shiny black bags the girls 
carried was obvious. Indeed, perhaps Tavia sag¬ 
ged perceptibly on that side—and intentionally; 
and, of course, her hazel eyes said “Please!” just 
as plain as eyes ever spoke before. 

Off came the broad-brimmed hat just for an in¬ 
stant. Then he held out both hands. 

“Let me help you, ladies,” he said, with the 
pleasantest of smiles. “Seeing that I have ob¬ 
tained the services of the only Jasper in sight, 
you’d better let me play porter. Going to take 
this tube train, ladies?” 

“Yes, indeed!” cried Tavia, twinkling with 
smiles at once, and first to give him a bag. 

Dorothy might have hesitated, but the young 
man was insistent and quick. He seized both bags 
as a matter of course, and Dorothy Dale could 
not pull hers away from him. 

“You must let us pay your porter, then,” she 
said, in her quietly pleasant way. 

“Bless you! we won’t fight over that,” chuckled 
the young man. 

He was agreeably talkative, with that whole- 


8 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 

some, free, yet chivalrous manner which the girls, 
especially the thoughtful Dorothy, had noticed 
as particular attributes of the men they had met 
during their memorable trip to the West, some 
months before. 

She noticed, too, that his attentions to Tavia 
and herself were nicely balanced. Of course, 
Tavia, as she always did, began to run on in her 
light-hearted and irresponsible w r ay; but though 
the young man listened to her with a quiet smile, 
he spoke directly to Dorothy quite as often as he 
did to the flyaway girl. He did not seek to take 
advantage of Tavia’s exuberant good spirits as 
so many strangers might have done. 

Tavia’s flirtatious ways were a sore trial to her 
more sober chum; but this young man seemed to 
understand Tavia at once. 

“Of course, you’re from the West?” Tavia fin¬ 
ished one “rattlety-bang” series of remarks with 
this direct question. 

“Of course I am. Right from the desert—Des¬ 
ert City, in fact,” he said, with a quiet smile. 

“Oh!” gasped Tavia, turning her big eyes on 
her chum. “Did you hear that, Doro? Desert 
City!” 

For the girls, during their visit to the West had, 
as Tavia often claimed in true Western slang, 
helped “put Desert City on the map.” 

Dorothy, however, did not propose to let this 


‘ALONE IN A GREAT CITY 5 


9 


conversation with a strange man become at all 
personal. She ignored her chum’s observation 
and, as the city-bound tube train came sliding in 
beside the platform, she reached for her own bag 
and insisted upon taking it from the Westerner’s 
hand. 

“Thank you so much,” she said, with just the 
right degree of firmness as well as of gratitude. 

Perforce he had to give up the bag, and Ta- 
via’s, too, for there was the red-capped, smiling 
negro expectant of the “two-bits.” 

“You are so kind,” breathed Tavia, with one 
of her wonderful “man-killing” glances at the 
considerate G. K., as Dorothy’s cousin, Nat 
White, would have termed her expression of coun¬ 
tenance. 

G. K. was polite and not brusk; but he was not 
flirtatious. Dorothy entered the Hudson tube 
train with a feeling of considerable satisfaction. 
G. K. did not even enter the car by the same door 
as themselves nor did he take the empty seat op¬ 
posite the girls, as he might have done. 

“There! he is one young man who will not flirt 
with you, Tavia,” she said, admonishingly. 

“Pooh! I didn’t half try,” declared her chum, 
lightly. 

“My dear! you would be tempted, I believe, to 
flirt with a blind man!” 

“Oh, Doro! Never!” Then she dimpled sua- 


10 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 


denly, glancing out of the window as the train 
swept on. “There’s a man I didn’t try to flirt 
with.” 

“Where?” laughed Dorothy. 

“Otuside there beside the tracks,” for they had 
not yet reached the Summit Avenue Station, and 
it is beyond that spot that the trains dive into the 
tunnel. 

“We passed him too quickly then,” said Dor¬ 
othy. “Lucky man!” 

The next moment—or so it seemed—Tavia 
began on another tack: 

“To think! In fifteen minutes, Doro my dear, 
we shall be ‘Alone in a Great City.’ ” 

“How alone?” drawled her friend. “Do you 
suppose New York has suddenly been depopu¬ 
lated?” 

“But we shall be alone, Doro. What more 
lonesome than a crowd in which you know no¬ 
body?” 

“How very thoughtful you have become of a 
sudden. I hope you will keep your hand on your 
purse, dear. There will be some people left in 
the great city—and perhaps one may be a pick¬ 
pocket.” 

The electric lights were flashed on, and the 
train soon dived into the great tunnel, “like a 
rabbit into his burrow,” Tavia said. They had to 
disembark at Grove Street to change for an up- 


‘ALONE IN A GREAT CITY’ 


n 


town train. The tall young Westerner did like¬ 
wise, but he did not accost them. 

The Sixth Avenue train soon whisked the girls 
to their destination, and they got out at Twenty- 
third Street. As they climbed the steps to the 
street level, Tavia suddenly uttered a surprised 
cry. 

“Look, will you, Doro?” she said. “Right 
ahead!” 

“G. K.!” exclaimed her friend, for there was 
the young man mounting the stairs, lugging his 
two heavy suitcases. 

“Suppose he goes to the very same hotel?” 
giggled Tavia. 

“Well—maybe that will be nice,” Dorothy said 
composedly. “He looks nice enough for us to 
get acquainted with him—in some perfectly 
proper way, of course.” 

“Whew, Doro !” breathed Tavia, her eyes open¬ 
ing wide again. “You’re coming on, my dear.” 

“I am speaking sensibly. If he is a nice young 
man and perfectly respectable, why shouldn’t he 
find some means of meeting us—if he wants to— 
and we are all at the same hotel?” 

“But-” 

“I don’t believe in flirting,” said Dorothy Dale, 
calmly, yet with a twinkle in her eyes. “But I 
certainly would not fly in the face of Providence 
—as Miss Higley, our old teacher at Glenwood, 



12 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 


would say—and refuse to meet G. K. He looks 
like a really nice young man.” 

“Doro!” gasped Tavia. “You amaze me! I 
shall next expect to see the heavens fall!” 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” said her friend, as they 
reached the exit of the tube station and stepped 
out upon the sidewalk. 

There was the Westerner already dickering 
with a boy to carry his bags. 

“He likes to throw money away, too!” whis¬ 
pered Tavia. “I suppose we must be economical 
and carry ours.” 

“As there seems to be no other boy in sight— 
yes,” laughed her friend. 

“That young man gets the best of us every 
time,” complained Tavia under her breath. 

“He is typically Western,” said Dorothy. “He 
is prompt.” 

But then, the boy starting off with the heavy 
bags in a little box-wagon he drew, the young man 
whose initials were G. K., turned with a smile to 
the two girls. 

“Ladies,” he said, lifting his hat again, “at the 
risk of being considered impertinent, I wish to ask 
you if you are going my way? If so I will help 
you with your bags, having again cinched what 
seems to be the only baggage transportation facili¬ 
ties at this station.” 

For once Tavia was really speechless. It was 



‘ALONE IN A GREAT CITY 3 


13 


Dorothy who quite coolly asked the young man: 

“Which is your direction?” 

“To the Fanuel,” he said. 

“That is where we are going,” Dorothy ad¬ 
mitted, giving him her bag again without question. 

“Oh!” exclaimed Tavia, “getting into the pic¬ 
ture with a bounce,” as she would have expressed 
it. “Aren’t you the handiest young man!” 

“Thank you,” he replied, laughing. “That is 
a reputation to make one proud. I never was in 
this man’s town before, but I was recommended 
to the Fanuel by my boss.” 

“Oh!” Tavia hastened to take the lead in the 
conversation. “We’ve been here before—Doro 
and I. And we always stop at the Fanuel.” 

“Now, I look on that as a streak of pure luck,” 
he returned. He looked at Dorothy, however, 
not at Tavia. 

The boy with the wagon went on ahead and the 
three voyagers followed, laughing and chatting, 
G. K. swinging the girls’ bags as though they were 
light instead of heavy. 

“I want awfully to know his name,” whispered 
Tavia, when they came to the hotel entrance and 
the young man handed over their bags again and 
went to the curb to get his own suitcases from 
the boy. 

“Let’s,” added Tavia, “go to the clerk’s desk 
and ask for the rooms your Aunt Winnie wrote 


i 4 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 


about Then I’ll get a chance to see what He 

writes on the book.” 

“Nonsense, Tavia!” exclaimed Dorothy. 
“We’ll do nothing of the kind. We must go to 
the ladies’ parlor and send a boy to the clerk, or 
the manager, with our cards. This is a family 
hotel, I know; but the lobby and the office are 
most likely full of men at this time in the day.” 

“Oh, dear! Come on, then, Miss Particular,” 
groaned Tavia. “And we didn’t even bid him 
good-bye at parting.” 

“What did you want to do?” laughed Dorothy. 
“Weep on his shoulder and give him some trinket, 
for instance, as a souvenir?” 

“Dorothy Dale !” exclaimed her friend. “I be¬ 
lieve you have something up your sleeve. You 
seem just sure of seeing this nice cowboy person 
again.” 

“All men from the West do not punch cattle 
for a living. And it would not be the strangest 
thing in the world if we should meet G. K. again, 
as he is stopping at this hotel.” 

However, the girls saw nothing more of the 
smiling and agreeable Westerner that day. Doro¬ 
thy Dale’s aunt had secured by mail two rooms 
and a bath for her niece and Tavia. The girls 
only appeared at dinner, and retired early. Even 
Tavia’s bright eyes could not spy out G. K. while 
they were at dinner. 


‘ALONE IN A GREAT CITY 5 


Besides, the girls had many other things to 
think about, and Tavia’s mind could not linger en¬ 
tirely upon even as nice a young man as G. K. 
appeared to be. 

This was their first visit to New York alone, as 
the' more lively girl indicated. Aunt Winnie 
White had sprained her ankle and could not come 
to the city for the usual fall shopping. Dorothy 
was, for the first time, to choose her own fall 
and winter outfit. Tavia had come on from Dal¬ 
ton, with the money her father had been able to 
give her for a similar purpose, and the friends 
were to shop together. 

They left the hotel early the next morning and 
arrived at the first huge department store on their 
list almost as soon as the store was opened, at nine 
o’clock. 

An hour later they were in the silk department, 
pricing goods and “just looking” as Tavia said. 
In her usual thoughtless and incautious way, Tavia 
dropped her handbag upon the counter while she 
used both hands to examine a particular piece of 
goods, calling Dorothy’s attention to it, too. 

“No, dear; I do not think it is good enough, 
either for the money or for your purpose,” Doro¬ 
thy said. “The color is lovely; but don’t be guided 
wholly by that.” 

“No. I suppose you are right,” sighed Tavia. 

She shook her head at the clerk and prepared 


i6 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 


to follow her friend, who had already left the 
counter. Hastily picking up what she supposed 
to be her bag, Tavia ran two or three steps to 
catch up with Dorothy. As she did so a feminine 
shriek behind her startled everybody within hear¬ 
ing. 

“That girl—she’s got my bag! Stop her!” 

“Oh! what is it?” gasped Dorothy, turning. 

“Somebody’s stolen something,” stammered 
Tavia, turning around too. 

Then she looked at the bag in her hand. In¬ 
stead of her own seal-leather one, it was a much 
more expensive bag, gold mounted and plethoric. 

“There she is! She’s got it in her hand!” 

A woman dressed in the most extreme fashion 
and most expensively, darted down the aisle upon 
the two girls. She pointed a quivering, accusing 
finger directly at poor Tavia. 


CHAPTER II 


G. K. TO THE RESCUE 

Dorothy Dale and her friend Tavia Travers 
had often experienced very serious adventures, 
but the shock of this incident perhaps was as great 
and as thrilling as anything that had heretofore 
happened to them. 

The series of eleven previous stories about 
Dorothy, Tavia, and their friends began with 
“Dorothy Dale: A Girl of To-day,” some years 
before the date of this present narrative. At that 
time Dorothy was living with her father, Major 
Frank Dale, a Civil War veteran, who owned and 
edited the Bugle, a newspaper published in Dal¬ 
ton, a small town in New York State. 

Then Major Dale’s livelihood and that of the 
family, consisting of Dorothy and her small broth¬ 
ers, Joe and Roger, depended upon the success of 
the Bugle. Taken seriously ill in the midst of a 
lively campaign for temperance and for a general 
reform government in Dalton, it looked as though 
the major would lose his paper and the better ele¬ 
ment in the town lose their fight for prohibition; 
but Dorothy Dale, confident that she could do it, 
17 


18 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 


got out the Bugle and did much, young girl though 
she was, to save the day. In this she was helped 
by Tavia Travers, a girl brought up entirely dif¬ 
ferently from Dorothy, and who possessed exactly 
the opposite characteristics to serve as a foil for 
Dorothy’s own good sense and practical nature. 

Major Dale was unexpectedly blessed with a 
considerable legacy which enabled him to sell the 
Bugle and take his children to The Cedars, at 
North Birchland, to live with his widowed sister 
and her two boys, Ned and Nat White, who were 
both older than their cousin Dorothy. In “Doro¬ 
thy Dale at Glenwood School,” is related these 
changes for the better in the fortunes of the Dale 
family, and as well there is narrated the beginning 
of a series of adventures at school and during 
vacation times, in which Dorothy and Tavia are 
the central characters. 

Subsequent books are entitled respectively: 
“Dorothy Dale’s Great Secret,” “Dorothy Dale 
and Her Chums,” “Dorothy Dale’s Queer Holi¬ 
days,” “Dorothy Dale’s Camping Days,” “Doro¬ 
thy Dale’s School Rivals,” “Dorothy Dale in the 
City,” and “Dorothy Dale’s Promise,” in which 
story the two friends graduate from Glenwood 
and return to their homes feeling—and looking, 
of course—like real, grown-up young ladies. 
Nevertheless, they are not then through with ad¬ 
ventures, surprising happenings, and much fun. 


G. K. TO THE RESCUE 


19 


About the time the girls graduated from school 
an old friend of Major Dale, Colonel Hardin, 
passed away, leaving his large estate in the West 
partly to the major and partly to be administered 
for the local public good. Cattle raising was not 
so generally followed as formerly in that section 
and dry farming was being tried. 

Colonel Hardin had foreseen that nothing but 
a system of irrigation would save the poor farm¬ 
ers from ruin and on his land was the fountain 
of supply that should water the whole territory 
about Desert City and make it “blossom as the 
rose.” There were mining interests, however, sel¬ 
fishly determined to obtain the water rights on the 
Hardin Estate and that by hook or by crook. 

Major Dale’s health was not at this time good 
enough for him to look into these matters actively 
or to administer his dead friend’s estate. There¬ 
fore, it is told in “Dorothy Dale in the West,” 
how Aunt Winnie White, Dorothy’s two cousins, 
Ned and Nat, and herself with Tavia, go far 
from North Birchland and mingle with the miners, 
and other Western characters to be found on and 
about the Hardin property, including a cowboy 
named Lance Petterby, who shows unmistakable 
signs of being devoted to Tavia. Indeed, after 
the party return to the East, Lance writes to 
Tavia and the latter’s apparent predilection for 
the cowboy somewhat troubles Dorothy. 


20 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 


However, after their return to the East the 
chums went for a long visit to the home of a 
school friend, Jennie Hapgood, in Pennsylvania; 
and there Tavia seemed to have secured other— 
and less dangerous—interests. In “Dorothy 
Dale’s Strange Discovery,” the narrative immedi¬ 
ately preceding this present tale, Dorothy dis¬ 
plays her characteristic kindliness and acute rea¬ 
soning powers in solving a problem that brings to 
Jennie Hapgood’s father the very best of good 
fortune. 

Naturally, the Hapgoods are devoted to Doro¬ 
thy. Besides, Ned and Nat, her cousins, have 
visited Sunnyside and are vastly interested in Jen¬ 
nie. The girl chums now in New York City on 
this shopping tour, expect on returning to North 
Birchland to find Jennie Hapgood there for a 
promised visit. 

At the moment, however, that we find Dorothy 
and Tavia at the beginning of this chapter, neither 
girl is thinking much about Jennie Hapgood and 
her expected visit, or of anything else of minor 
importance. 

The flashily dressed woman who had run after 
Tavia down the aisle, again screamed her accu¬ 
sation at the amazed and troubled girl: 

“That’s my bag! It’s cram full of money, too.” 

There was no great crowd in the store, for New 
York ladies do not as a rule shop much before 


G. K. TO THE RESCUE 


21 


luncheon. Nevertheless, besides salespeople, there 
were plenty to hear the woman’s unkind accusa¬ 
tion and enough curious shoppers to ring in im¬ 
mediately the two troubled girls and the angry 
woman. 

“Give me it!” exclaimed the latter, and 
snatched the bag out of Tavia’s hand. As this 
was done the catch slipped in some way and the 
handbag burst open. 

It was “cram full” of money. Bills of large 
denomination were rolled carelessly into a ball, 
with a handkerchief, a purse for change, several 
keys, and a vanity box. Some of these things 
tumbled out upon the floor and a young boy 
stooped and recovered them for her. 

“You’re a bad, bad girl!” declared the angry 
woman. “I hope they send you to jail.” 

“Why—why, I didn’t know it was yours,” mur¬ 
mured Tavia, quite upset. 

“Oh! you thought somebody had forgotten it 
and you could get away with it,” declared the 
other, coarsely enough. 

“I beg your pardon, Madam,” Dorothy Dale 
here interposed. “It was a mistake on my friend’s 
part. And you are making another mistake, and 
a serious one.” 

She spoke in her most dignified tone, and al¬ 
though Dorothy was barely in her twentieth year 
she had the manner and stability of one much 


22 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 


older. She realized that poor Tavia was in dan¬ 
ger of “going all to pieces” if the strain continued. 
And, too, her own anger at the woman’s harsh 
accusation naturally put the girl on her mettle. 

“Who are you, I’d like to know?” snapped the 
woman. 

“I am her friend,” said Dorothy Dale, quite 
composedly, “and I know her to be incapable of 
taking your bag save by chance. She laid her own 
down on the counter and took up yours-” 

“And where is mine?” suddenly wailed Tavia, 
on the verge of an hysterical outbreak. “My bag! 
My money-” 

“Hush!” whispered Dorothy in her friend’s 
pretty ear. “Don’t become a second harridan— 
like this creature.” 

The woman had led the way back to the silk 
counter. Tavia began to claw wildly among the 
broken bolts of silk that the clerk had not yet been 
able to return to the shelves. But she stopped at 
Dorothy’s command, and stood, pale and tremb- 
ling. 

A floorwalked hastened forward. He evidently 
knew the noisy woman as a good customer of the 
store. 

“Mrs. Halbridge! What is the matter ? Noth¬ 
ing serious, I hope?” 

“It would have been serious all right,” said 
the customer, in her high-pitched voice, “if I 




G. K. TO THE RESCUE 


23 


hadn’t just seen that girl by luck. Yes, by luck! 
There she was making for the door with this bag 
of mine—and there’s several hundred dollars in 
it, I’d have you know.” 

‘‘I beg of you, Mrs. Halbridge,” said the floor¬ 
walker in a low tone, “for the sake of the store 
to make no trouble about it here. If you insist 
we will take the girl up to the superintendent’s 
office-” 

Here Dorothy, her anger rising interrupted: 

“You would better not. Mrs. Winthrop White, 
of North Birchland, is a charge customer of your 
store, and is probably just as well known to the 
heads of the firm as this—this person,” and she 
cast what Tavia—in another mood— would have 
called a “scathing glance” at Mrs. Halbridge. 

“I am Mrs. White’s niece and this is my partic¬ 
ular friend. We are here alone on a shopping 
tour; but if our word is not quite as good as that 
of this—this person, we certainly shall buy else¬ 
where.” 

Tavia, obsessed with a single idea, murmured 
again: 

“But I haven’t got my bag! Somebody’s taken 
my bag! And all my money-” 

The floorwalker was glancing about, hoping for 
some avenue of escape from the unfortunate pre¬ 
dicament, when a very tall, white-haired and sol¬ 
dierly looking man appeared in the aisle. 




24 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 


“Mr. Schuman!” gasped the floorwalker. 

The man was one of the chief proprietors of 
the big store. He scowled slightly at the floor¬ 
walker when he saw the excited crowd, and then 
raised his eyebrows questioningly. 

“This is not the place for any lengthy discus¬ 
sion, Mr. Mink,” said Mr. Schuman, with just 
the proper touch of admonition in his tone. 

“I know! I know, Mr. Schuman!” said the 
floorwalker. “But this difficulty—it came so sud¬ 
denly—Mrs. Halbridge, here, makes the com¬ 
plaint,” he finally blurted out, in an attempt to 
shoulder off some of the responsibility for the 
unfortunate situation. 

“Mrs. Halbridge?” The old gentleman bowed 
in a most courtly style. “One of our customers, 
I presume, Mr. Mink?” 

“Oh, yes, indeed, Mr. Schuman,” the floor¬ 
walker hastened to say. “One of our very good 
customers. And I am so sorry that anything 
should have happened-” 

“But what has happened?” asked Mr. Schu¬ 
man, sharply. 

“She—she accuses this—it’s all a mistake, I’m 
sure—this young lady of taking her bag,” stut¬ 
tered Mr. Mink, pointing to Tavia. 

“She ought to be arrested,” muttered the ex¬ 
cited Mrs. Halbridge. 

“What? But this is a matter for the superin- 



G. K. TO THE RESCUE 


25 

tendent’s office, Mr. Mink,” returned Mr. Schu- 
man. 

“Oh!” stammered the floorwalker. “The bag 
is returned.” 

“And now,” put in Dorothy Dale, haughtily, 
and looking straight and unflinchingly into the 
keen eyes of Mr. Schuman, “my friend wishes to 
know what has become of her bag?” 

Mr. Schuman looked at the two girls with mo¬ 
mentary hesitation. 

There was something compelling in the lady¬ 
like look and behaviour of these two girls—and 
especially in Dorothy’s speech. At the moment, 
too, a hand was laid tentatively upon Mr. Schu- 
man’s arm. 

“Beg pardon, sir,” said the full, resonant voice 
that Dorothy had noted the day before. “I know 
the young ladies—Miss Dale and Miss Travers, 
respectively, Mr. Schuman.” 

“Oh, Mr. Knapp—thank you!” said the old 
gentleman, turning to the tall young Westerner 
with whom he had been walking through the store 
at the moment he had spied the crowd. “You are 
a discourager of embarrassment.” 

“Oh! blessed ‘G. K.’!” whispered Tavia, 
weakly clinging to Dorothy’s arm. 


CHAPTER III 


TAVIA IN THE SHADE 

Mrs. Halbridge was slyly slipping through 
the crowd. She had suddenly lost all interest in 
the punishment of the girl she had accused of 
stealing her bag and her money. 

There was something so stern about Mr.- Schu- 
man that it was not strange that the excitable 
woman should fear further discussion of the mat¬ 
ter. The old gentleman turned at once to Doro¬ 
thy Dale and Tavia Travers. 

“This is an unfortunate and regrettable inci¬ 
dent, young ladies,” he said suavely. “ I assure 
you that such things as this seldom occur under 
our roof.” 

“I am confident it is a single occurrence,” Doro¬ 
thy said, with conviction, “or my aunt, Mrs. Win- 
throp White, of North Birchland, would not have 
traded with you for so many years.” 

“One of our charge customers, Mr. Schuman,” 
whispered Mr. Mink, deciding it was quite time 
now to come to the assistance of the girls. 

“Regrettable! Regrettable!” repeated the old 
gentleman. 


26 


TAVIA IN THE SHADE 


27 


Here Tavia again entered her wailing protest: 

“I did not mean to take her bag from the coun¬ 
ter. But somebody has taken my bag.” 

“Oh, Tavia!” exclaimed her friend, now 
startled into noticing what Tavia really said about 
it. 

“It’s gone !” wailed Tavia. “And all the money 
father sent me. Oh, dear, Doro Dale! I guess 
I have thrown my money away, and, as you proph¬ 
esied, it isn’t as much fun as I thought it might 
be.” 

“My dear young lady,” hastily inquired Mr. 
Schuman, “have you really lost your purse?” 

“My bag,” sobbed Tavia. “I laid it down while 
I examined some silk. That clerk saw me,” she 
added, pointing to the man behind the counter. 

“It is true, Mr. Schuman,” the silk clerk ad¬ 
mitted, blushing painfully. “But, of course, I did 
not notice what became of the lady’s bag.” 

“Nor did 1 see the other bag until I found it 
in my hand,” Tavia cried. 

The crowd was dissipated by this time, and all 
spoke in low voices. Outside the counter was a 
cash-girl, a big-eyed and big-eared little thing, who 
was evidently listening curiously to the conversa¬ 
tion. Mr. Mink said sharply to her: 

“Number forty-seven! do you know anything 
about this bag business?” 

“No—no, sir!” gasped the frightened girl. 


28 DOROTHY DALE'S ENGAGEMENT 


“Then go on about your business,” the floor¬ 
walker said, waving her away in his most lordly 
manner. 

Meanwhile, Dorothy had obtained a word with 
the young Mr. Knapp who had done her and 
Tavia such a kindness. 

“Thank you a thousand times, Mr. Knapp,” 
she whispered, her eyes shining gratefully into his. 
“It might have been awkward for us without you. 
And,” she added, pointedly, “how fortunate you 
knew our names!” 

He was smiling broadly, but she saw the color 
rise in his bronzed cheeks at her last remark. She 
liked him all the better for blushing so boyishly. 

“Got me there, Miss Dale,” he blurted out. “I 
was curious, and I looked on the hotel register to 
see your names after the clerk brought it back 
from the parlor where he went to greet you yes¬ 
terday. Hope you’ll forgive me for being so—er 
—rubbery.” 

“It proves to be a very fortunate curiosity on 
your part,” she told him, smiling. 

“Say!” he whispered, “your friend is all broken 
up over this. Has she lost much?” 

“All the money she had to pay for the clothes 
she wished to buy, I’m afraid,” sighed Dorothy. 

“Well, let’s get her out of here—go somewhere 
to recuperate. There’s a good hotel across the 
street. I had my breakfast there before I began 


TAVIA IN THE SHADE 


29 


to shop,” and he laughed. “A cup of tea will re¬ 
vive her, I’m sure.” 

“And you are suffering for a cup, too, I am 
sure,” Dorothy told him, her eyes betraying her 
amusement, at his rather awkward attempt to be¬ 
come friendly with Tavia and herself. 

But Dorothy approved of this young man. 
Aside from the assistance he had undoubtedly 
rendered her chum and herself, G. Knapp seemed 
to be far above the average young man. 

She turned now quickly to Tavia. Mr. Schu- 
man was saying very kindly: 

“Search shall be made, my dear young lady. 
I am exceedingly sorry that such a thing should 
happen in our store. Of course, somebody picked 
up your bag before you inadvertently took the 
other lady’s. If I had my way I would have it a 
law that every shopper should have her purse riv¬ 
eted to her wrist with a chain.” 

It was no laughing matter, however, for poor 
Tavia. Her family was not in the easy circum¬ 
stances that Dorothy’s was. Indeed, Mr. Trav¬ 
ers was only fairly well-to-do, and Tavia’s mother 
was exceedingly extravagant. It was difficult 
sometimes for Tavia to obtain sufficient money 
to get along with. 

Besides, she was incautious herself. It was 
natural for her to be wasteful and thoughtless. 
But this was the first time in her experience that 


30 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 

she had either wasted or lost such a sum of 
money. 

She wiped her eyes very quickly when Dorothy 
whispered to her that they were going out for a 
cup of tea with Mr. Knapp. 

“Oh dear, that perfectly splendid cowboy per¬ 
son!” groaned Tavia. “And I am in no mood to 
make an impression. Doro! you’ll have to do it 
all yourself this time. Do keep him in play until 
I recover from, this blow—if I ever do.” 

The young man, who led the way to the side 
door of the store which was opposite the hotel 
and restaurant of which he had spoken, heard 
the last few words and turned to ask seriously: 

“Surely Miss Travers did not lose all the money 
she had?” 

“All I had in the world!” wailed Tavia. “Ex¬ 
cept a lonely little five dollar bill.” 

“Where is that?” asked Dorothy, in surprise. 

“In the First National Bank,” Tavia said de¬ 
murely. 

“Oh, then, that's safe enough,” said Mr. 
Knapp. 

“I didn’t know you had even that much in the 
bank,” remarked Dorothy, doubtfully. “The 
First National?” 

“Yep!” declared Tavia promptly, but nudged 
her friend. “Hush!” she hissed. 

Dorothy did not understand, but she saw there 


TAVIA IN THE SHADE 


3i 


was something queer about this statement. It was 
news to her that her chum ever thought of put¬ 
ting a penny on deposit in any bank. It was not 
like Tavia. 

“How do you feel now, dear?” she asked the 
unfortunate girl, as they stepped out into the open 
air behind the broad-shouldered young Westerner, 
who held the door open for their passage. 

“Oh, dear me!” sighed Tavia. “I’m forty de¬ 
grees in the shade—and the temperature is still 
going down. What ever shall I do? I’ll be posi¬ 
tively naked before Thanksgiving!” 


CHAPTER IV 


SOMETHING ABOUT “G. KNAPP” 

But how can three people with all the revivi¬ 
fying flow of youth in their veins remain in the 
dumps, to use one of Tavia’s own illuminating ex¬ 
pressions. Impossible! That tea at the Holyoke 
House, which began so miserably, scaled upward 
like the notes of a coloratura sporano until they 
were all three chatting and laughing like old 
friends. Even Tavia had to forget her miserable 
financial state. 

Dorothy believed her first impression of G. 
Knapp had not been wrong. Indeed, he improved 
with every moment of increasing familiarity. 

In the first place, although his repartee was 
bright enough, and he was very jolly and frank, 
he had eyes and attention for somebody besides 
the chatterbox, Tavia. Perhaps right at first 
Tavia was a little under the mark, her mind nat¬ 
urally being upon her troubles; but with a strange 
young man before her the gay and sparkling Tavia 
would soon be inspired. 

However, for once she did not absorb all the 
more or less helpless male’s attention. G. Knapp 
32 


SOMETHING ABOUT “G. KNAPP’ 


33 


insisted upon dividing equally his glances, his 
speeches, and his smiles between the two young 
ladies. 

They discovered that his full and proper name 
was Garford Knapp—the first, of course, short¬ 
ened to “Garry.” He was of the West, West¬ 
ern, without a doubt. He had secured a degree 
at a Western university, although both before and 
after his scholastic course he had, as Tavia in 
the beginning suggested, been a “cowboy per- 
son. 

“And it looks as if I’d be punching cows and 
doing other chores for Bob Douglas, who owns 
the Four-Square ranch, for the rest of my nat¬ 
ural,” was one thing Garry Knapp told the girls, 
and told them cheerfully. “I did count on falling 
heir to a piece of money when Uncle Terrence 
cashed in. But not—no more!” 

“Why is that?” Dorothy asked, seeing that the 
young man was serious despite his somewhat care¬ 
less way of speaking. 

“The old codger is just like tinder,” laughed 
Garry. “Lights up if a spark gets to him. And 
I unfortunately and unintentionally applied the 
spark. He’s gone off to Alaska mad as a hatter 
and left me in the lurch. And we were chums 
when I was a kid and until I came back from col¬ 
lege” 

“You mean you have quarreled with your 


34 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 


uncle?” Dorothy queried, with some seriousness. 

“Not at all, Miss Dale,” he declared, promptly. 
“The old fellow quarreled with me. They say it 
takes two to make a quarrel. That’s not always 
so. One can do it just as e-easy. At least, one 
like Uncle Terrence can. He had red hair when 
he was young, and he has a strong fighting Irish 
strain in him. The row began over nothing and 
ended with his lighting out between evening and 
sunrise and leaving me flat. 

“Of course, I broke into a job with Bob Doug¬ 
las right away-” 

“Do you mean, Mr. Knapp, that your uncle 
went away and left you without money?” Doro¬ 
thy asked. 

“Only what I chanced to have in my pocket,” 
Garry Knapp said cheerfully. “He’d always been 
mighty good to me. Put me through school and 
all that. All I have is a piece of land—and a 
good big piece—outside of Desert City; but it 
isn’t worth much. Cattle raising is petering out 
in that region. Last year the mouth and hoof dis¬ 
ease just about ruined the man that grazed my 
land. His cattle died like flies. 

“Then, the land was badly grazed by sheep¬ 
men for years. Sheep about poison land for any¬ 
thing else to live on,” he added, with a cattle¬ 
man’s usual disgust at the thought of “mutton on 
the hoof.” 



SOMETHING ABOUT “G. KNAPP” 35 

“One thing I’ve come East for, Miss Dale, is 
to sell that land. Got a sort of tentative offer by 
mail. Bob wanted a lot of stuff for the ranch and 
for his family and couldn’t come himself. So I 
combined his business and mine and hope to make 
a sale of the land my father left me before I go 
back. 

“Then, with that nest-egg, I’ll try to break into 
some game that will offer a man-sized profit,” and 
Garry Knapp laughed again in his mellow, whole- 
souled way. 

“Isn’t he just a dear?” whispered Tavia as 
Garry turned to speak to the waiter. “Don’t you 
love to hear him talk?” 

“And have you never heard from your old 
uncle who went away and left you?” Dorothy 
asked. 

“Not a word. He’s too mad to speak, let 
alone write,” and a cloud for a moment crossed 
the open, handsome face of the Westerner. “But 
I know where he is, and every once in a while 
somebody writes me telling me Uncle Terry is all 
right.” 

“But, an old man, away up there in 
Alaska-?” 

“Bless you, Miss Dale,” chuckled Garry 
Knapp. “That dear old codger has been knock¬ 
ing about in rough country all his days. Pie’s 
always been a miner. Prospected pretty well all 


36 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 


over our West. He’s made, and then bunted 
away, big fortunes sometimes. 

“He always has a stake laid down somewhere. 
Never gets real poor, and never went hungry in 
his life—unless he chanced to run out of grub on 
some prospecting tour, or his gun was broken and 
he couldn’t shoot a jackrabbit for a stew. 

“Oh, Uncle Terrence isn’t at all the sort of 
hampered prospector you read about in the books. 
He doesn’t go mooning around, expecting to 
‘strike it rich’ and running the risk of leaving his 
bones in the desert. 

“No, Uncle Terry is likely to make another 
fortune before he dies-’’ 

“Oh! Then maybe you will be rich!” cried 
Tavia, breaking in. 

“No.” Garry shook his head with a quizzical 
smile on his lips and in his eyes. “No. He vowed 
I should never see the color of his money. First, 
he said, he’d leave it to found a home for indig¬ 
nant rattlesnakes. And he’d surely have plenty 
of inmates, for rattlers seem always to be indig¬ 
nant,” he added with a chuckle. 

Dorothy wanted awfully to ask him why he 
had quarreled with his uncle—or vice versa; but 
that would have been too personal upon first meet¬ 
ing. She liked the young man more and more; 
and in spite of Tavia’s loss they parted at the end 
of the hour in great good spirits. 



SOMETHING ABOUT “G. KNAPP’ 


37 


“I’m going to be just as busy as I can be this 
afternoon,” Garry Knapp announced, as they went 
out. “But I shall get back to the hotel to sup¬ 
per. I wasn’t in last night when you ladies were 
down. May I eat at your table?” and his eyes 
squinted up again in that droll way Dorothy had 
come to look for. 

“How do you know we ate in the hotel last 
evening?” demanded Tavia, promptly. 

“Asked the head waiter,” replied Garry Knapp, 
unabashed. 

“If you are so much interested in whether we 
take proper nourishment or not, you had better 
join us at dinner,” Dorothy said, laughing. 

“It’s a bet!” declared the young Westerner, 
and lifting his broad-brimmed hat he left the girls 
upon the sidewalk outside the restaurant. 

“Isn’t he the very nicest—but, oh, Doro! what 
shall I do?” exclaimed the miserable Tavia. “All 
my money-” 

“Let’s go back and see if it’s been found.” 

“Oh, not a chance!” gasped Tavia. “That hor¬ 
rid woman-” 

“I scarcely believe that we can lay it to Mrs. 
Halbridge’s door in any particular,” said Doro¬ 
thy, gravely. “You should not have left your bag 
on the counter.” 

“She laid hers there! And, oh, Doro! it was 
full of money,” sighed her friend. 




38 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 

“Probably your bag had been taken before you 
even touched hers.” 

“Oh, dear! why did it have to happen to me — 
and at just this time. When I need things so much. 
Not a thing to wear! And it’s going to to be a cold, 
cold winter, too!” 

Tavia would joke “if the heavens fell”—that 
was her nature. But that she was seriously em¬ 
barrassed for funds Dorothy Dale knew right 
well. 

“If it had only been your bag that was lost,” 
wailed Tavia, “you would telegraph to Aunt Win¬ 
nie and get more money!” 

“And I shall do that in this case,” said her 
friend, placidly. 

“Oh! no you won’t!” cried Tavia, suddenly. “I 
will not take another cent from your Aunt Win¬ 
nie White—who’s the most blessed, generous, 
free, open-handed person who ever-” 

“Goodness! no further attributes?” laughed 
Dorothy. 

“No, Doro,” Tavia said, suddenly serious. “I 
have done this thing myself. It is awful. Poor 
old daddy earns his money too hardly for me to 
throw it away. I should know better. I should 
have learned caution and economy by this time 
with you, my dear, as an example ever before me. 

“Poor mother wastes money because she 
doesn’t know. I have had every advantage of a 



SOMETHING ABOUT “G. KNAPP 5 


39 


bright and shining example,” and she pinched 
Dorothy’s arm as they entered the big sto^re 
again. “If I have lost my money, I’ve lost it, and 
that’s the end of it. No new clothes for little 
Tavia—and serves her right!” she finished, bit¬ 
terly. 

Dorothy well knew that this was a tragic hap¬ 
pening for her friend. Generously she would have 
sent for more money, or divided her own store 
with Tavia. But she knew her chum to be in 
earnest, and she approved. 

It was not as though Tavia had nothing to 
wear. She had a full and complete wardrobe, only 
it would be no longer up to date. And she would 
have to curtail much of the fun the girls had 
looked forward to on this, their first trip, unchap¬ 
eroned, to the great city. 


CHAPTER V 


DOROTHY IS DISTURBED 

Nothing, of course, had been seen or heard 
of Tavia’s bag. Mr. Schuman himself had made 
the investigation, and he came to the girls per¬ 
sonally to tell them how extremely sorry he was. 
But being sorry did not help. 

“I’m done for!” groaned Tavia, as they re¬ 
turned to their rooms at the hotel just before 
luncheon. “I can’t even buy a stick of pepper¬ 
mint candy to send to the kids at Dalton.” 

“How about that five dollars in the bank?” 
asked Dorothy, suddenly remembering Tavia’s 
previous and most surprising statement. “And 
how did you ever come to have a bank account? 
Is it in the First National of Dalton?” 

There was a laugh from Tavia, a sudden flash 
of lingerie and the display of a silk stocking. 
Then she held out to her chum a neatly folded 
banknote wrapped in tissue paper. 

“First National Bank of Womankind,” she 
cried gaily. “I always carry it there in case of 
accident—being run over, robbed, or an earth¬ 
quake. But that five dollars is all I own. Oh, 
40 



THE TWO GIRLS STEPPED OUT OF THE ELEVATOR AND FOUND 
GARRY KNAPP WAITING FOR THEM. 

Dorothy Dale’s Engagement 


Page 41 
























DOROTHY IS DISTURBED 


4i 


dear! I wish I had stuffed the whole roll into 
my stocking.” 

“Don’t, Tavia! it’s not ladylike.” 

“I don’t care. Pockets are out of style again,” 
pouted her friend. “And, anyway, you must ad¬ 
mit that this was a stroke of genius, for I would 
otherwise be without a penny.” 

However, Tavia was too kind-hearted, as well 
as light-hearted, to allow her loss to cloud the day 
for Dorothy. She was just as enthusiastic in the 
afternoon in helping her friend select the goods 
she wished to buy as though all the “pretties” were 
for herself. 

They came home toward dusk, tired enough, 
and lay down for an hour—“relaxing as per in¬ 
structions of Lovely Lucy Larriper, the afternoon 
newspaper statistician,” Tavia said. 

“Why ‘statistician’?” asked Dorothy, wonder- 
ingly. 

“Why! isn’t she a ‘figger’ expert?” laughed 
Tavia. “Now relax!” 

A brisk bath followed and then, at seven, the 
two girls stepped out of the elevator into the 
lobby of the hotel and found Garry TCnapp wait¬ 
ing for them. He was likewise well tubbed and 
scrubbed, but he did not conform to city custom 
and wear evening dress. Indeed, Dorothy could 
not imagine him in the black and severe habili¬ 
ments of society. 


42 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 

“Not that his figure would not carry them 
well,” she thought. “But he would somehow 
seem out of place. Some of his breeziness and— 
and—yes!—his nice kind of ‘freshness’ would be 
gone. That gray business suit becomes him and 
so does his hat.” 

But, of course, the hat was not in evidence at 
present. The captain of the waiters had evidently 
expected this party, for he beckoned them to a 
retired table the moment the trio entered the long 
dining-room. 

“How cozy!” exclaimed Dorothy. “You must 
have what they call a ‘pull’ with people in author¬ 
ity, Mr. Knapp.” 

“How’s that?” he asked. 

“Why, you can get the best table in the dining¬ 
room, and this morning you rescued us from 
trouble through your acquaintanceship with Mr. 
Schuman.” 

“The influence of the Almighty Dollar,” said 
Garry Knapp, briefly. “This morning I had just 
spent several hundred dollars of Bob Doug¬ 
lass’ good money in that store. And here at this 
hotel Bob’s name is as good as a gold certificate.” 

“Oh, money! money!” groaned Tavia, “what 
crimes are committed in thy name—and likewise, 
what benefits achieved! I wonder what the per¬ 
son who stole it is doing with my money?” 

“Perhaps it was somebody who needed it more 


DOROTHY IS DISTURBED 


43 


than you do,” said Dorothy, rather quizzically. 

“Can’t be such a person. And needy people 
seldom find money. Besides, needy folk are al¬ 
ways honest—in the books. I’m honest myself, 
and heaven knows I’m needy!” 

“Was it truly all the money you had with you?” 
asked Garry Knapp, commiseratingly. 

“Honest and true, black and blue, lay me down 
and cut me in two!” chanted Tavia. 

“All but the five dollars in the bank,” Dorothy 
said demurely, but with dancing eyes. 

And for once Tavia actually blushed and was 
silenced—for a moment. Garry drawled: 

“I wonder who did get your bag, Miss Trav¬ 
ers? Of course, there are always light-fingered 
people hanging about a store like that.” 

“And the money will be put to no good use,” 
declared the loser, dejectedly. “If the person find¬ 
ing it would only found a hospital—or something 
—with it, I’d feel a lot better. But I know just 
what will happen.” 

“What?” asked Dorothy. 

“The person who took my bag will go and 
blow themselves to a fancy dinner—oh! better 
even than this one. I only hope he or she will eat 
so much that they will be sick-” 

“Don’t! don’t!” begged Dorothy, stopping her 
ears. “You are dreadfully mixed in your gram¬ 


mar. 



44 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 


“Do you wonder? After having been robbed so 
ruthlessly ?” 

“But, certainly, dear,” cooed Dorothy, “your 
knowledge of grammar was not in your bag, too?” 

Thus they joked over Tavia’s tragedy; but all 
the time Dorothy’s agile mind was working hard 
to scheme out a way to help her chum over this 
very, very hard place. 

Just at this time, however, she had to give some 
thought to Garry Knapp. He took out three slips 
of pasteboard toward the end of the very pleas¬ 
ant meal and flipped them upon the cloth. 

“I took a chance,” he said, in his boyish way. 
“There’s a good show down the street—kill a lit¬ 
tle time. Vaudeville and pictures. Good seats.” 

“Oh, let’s!” cried Tavia, clasping her hands. 

Dorothy knew that the theatre in question was 
respectable enough, although the entertainment 
was not of the Broadway class. But she knew, 
too, that this young man from the West probably 
could not afford to pay two dollars or more for 
a seat for an evening’s pleasure. 

“Of course we’ll be delighted to go. And we’d 
better go at once,” Dorothy said, without hesita¬ 
tion. “I’m ready. Are you, Tavia?” 

“You dear!” whispered Tavia, squeezing her 
arm as they followed Garry Knapp from the din¬ 
ing-room. “I never before knew you to be so 
amenable where a young man was concerned.” 


DOROTHY IS DISTURBED 


45 


“Is that so?” drawled Dorothy, but hid her 
face from her friend’s sharp eyes. 

It was late, but a fine, bright, dry evening when 
the trio came out of the theatre and walked slowly 
toward their hotel. On the block in the middle 
of which the Fanuel was situated there were but 
few pedestrians. As they approached the main 
entrance to the hotel a girl came slowly toward 
them, peering, it seemed, sharply into their faces. 

She was rather shabbily dressed, but was not 
at all an unattractive looking girl. Dorothy no¬ 
ticed that her passing glance was for Garry Knapp, 
not for herself or for Tavia. The young man 
had half dropped behind as £hey approached the 
hotel entrance and was saying: 

“I think I’ll take a brisk walk for a bit, having 
seen you ladies home after a very charming even¬ 
ing. I feel kind of shut in after that theatre, and 
want to expand my lungs.” 

“Good-night, then, Mr. Knapp,” Dorothy said 
lightly. “And thank you for a pleasant even- 
in g. 

“Ditto!” Tavia said, hiding a little yawn behind 
her gloved fingers. 

The girls stepped toward the open door of the 
hotel. Garry Knapp wheeled and started back 
the way they had come. Tavia clutched her 
chum’s arm with excitement. 

“Did you see that girl?” 


46 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 


“Why—yes,” Dorothy said wonderingly. 

“Lookback! Quick!” 

Impelled by her chum’s tone, Dorothy turned 
and looked up the street. Garry Knapp had over¬ 
taken the girl. The girl looked sidewise at him— 
they could see her turn her head—and then she 
evidently spoke. Garry dropped into slow step 
with her, and they strolled along, talking eagerly. 

“Why, he must know her!” gasped Tavia. 

“Why didn’t he introduce her then?” Dorothy 
said shortly. “It serves me right.” 

“What serves you right?” 

“For allowing you, as well as myself, to be¬ 
come so familiar with a strange man.” 

“Oh!” murmured Tavia, slowly. “It’s not so 
bad as all that. You’re making a mountain out 
of a molehill.” 

But Dorothy would not listen. 


CHAPTER VI 


SOMETHING OF A MYSTERY 

Tavia slept her usually sweet, sound sleep that 
night, despite the strange surroundings of the hotel 
and the happenings of a busy day; but Dorothy 
lay for a long time, unable to close her eyes. 

In the morning, however, she was as deep in 
slumber as ever her chum was when a knock came 
on the door of their anteroom. Both girls sat up 
and said in chorus: 

“Who’s there?” 

“It’s jes’ me, Missy,” said the soft voice of the 
colored maid. “Did one o’ youse young ladies 
lost somethin’?” 

“Oh, mercy me, yes!” shouted Tavia, jumping 
completely out of her bed and running toward the 
door. 

“Nonsense, Tavia!” admonished Dorothy, like¬ 
wise hopping out of bed. “She can’t have found 
your money.” 

“Oh! what is it, please?” asked Tavia, open¬ 
ing the door just a trifle. 

“Has you lost somethin’?” repeated the col¬ 
ored girl. 


47 


48 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 


“I lost my handbag in a store yesterday,” said 
Tavia. 

“Das it, Missy,” chuckled the maid. “De dark, 
he axed me to ax yo’ ’bout it. It’s done come 
back.” 

“What’s come back?” demanded Dorothy, like¬ 
wise appearing at the door and in the same dis¬ 
habille as her friend. 

“De bag. De dark tol’ me to tell yo’ ladies dat 
all de money is safe in it, too. Now yo’ kin go 
back to sleep again. He’s done got de bag in he’s 
safe;” and the girl went away chuckling. 

Tavia fell up against the door and stared at 
Dorothy. 

“Oh, Doro! Can it be?” she panted. 

“Oh, Tavia! What luck!” 

“There’s the telephone! I’m going to call up 
the office,” and Tavia darted for the instrument 
on the wall. 

But there was something the matter with the 
wires; that was why the clerk had sent the maid 
to the room. 

“Then I’m going to dress and go right down 
and see about it,” Tavia said. 

“But it’s only six o’clock,” yawned Dorothy. 
“The maid was right. We should go back to 
bed.” 

Her friend scorned the suggestion and she 
fairly “hopped” into her clothes. 


SOMETHING OF A MYSTERY 


49 


“Be sure and powder your nose, dear,” 
laughed Dorothy. “But I am glad for you, 
Tavia.” 

“Bother my nose!” responded her friend, run¬ 
ning out of her room and into the corridor. 

She whisked back again before Dorothy was 
more than half dressed with the precious bag in 
her hands. 

“Oh, it is! it is!” she cried, whirling about 
Dorothy’s room and her own and the bath and 
anteroom, in a dervish dance of joy. “Doro! 
Doro! I’m saved!” 

“I don’t know whether you are saved or not, 
dear. But you plainly are delighted.” 

“Every penny safe.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Oh, yes. I counted. I had to sign a receipt 
for the clerk, too. He is the dearest man.” 

“Well, dear, I hope this will be a lesson to 
you,” Dorothy said. 

“It will be!” declared the excited Tavia. “Do 
you know what I am going to do?” 

“Spend your money more recklessly than ever, 
I suppose,” sighed her friend. 

“Say! seems to me you’re awfully glum this 
morning. You’re not nice about my good luck— 
not a bit,” and Tavia stared at her in puzzle¬ 
ment. 

“Of course I’m delighted that you should re- 


50 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 


cover your bag,” Dorothy hastened to say. “How 
did it come back?” 

“Why, the clerk gave it to me, I tell you.” 

“What clerk? The one at the silk counter?” 

“Goodness! The hotel clerk downstairs.” 

“But how did he come by it?” 

Tavia slowly sat down and blinked. “Why— 
why,” she said, “I didn’t even think to ask him.” 

“Well, Tavia!” exclaimed Dorothy, rather 
aghast at this admission of her flyaway friend. 

“I do seem to have been awfully thoughtless 
again,” admitted Tavia, slowly. “I thanked him 
—the clerk, I mean! Oh, I did! I could have 
kissed him!” 

“Tavia!” 

“I could; but I didn’t,” said the wicked Tavia, 
her eyes sparkling once more. “But I never 
thought to ask how he came by it. Maybe some 
poor person found it and should be rewarded. 
Should I give a tithe of it, Doro, as a reward, as 
we give a tithe to the church? L,et’s see! I had 
just eighty-nine dollars and thirty-seven cents, and 
an old copper penny for a pocket-piece. One- 
tenth of that would be-” 

“Do be sensible!” exclaimed Dorothy, rather 
tartly for her. “You might at least have asked 
how the bag was sent here—whether by the store 
itself, or by some employee, or brought by some 
outside person.” 



SOMETHING OF A MYSTERY 


5i 


“Goodness! if it were your money would you 
have been so curious?” demanded Tavia. “I 
don’t believe it. You would have been just as 
excited as I was.” 

“Perhaps,” admitted Dorothy, after a mo¬ 
ment. “Anyway, I’m glad you have it back, 
dear.” 

“And do you know what I am going to do? I 
am going to take that old man’s advice.” 

“What old man, Tavia?” 

“That Mr. Schuman—the head of the big 
store. I am going to go out right after breakfast 
and buy me a dog chain and chain that bag to my 
wrist.” 

Dorothy laughed at this—yet she did not laugh 
happily. There was something wrong with her, 
and as soon as Tavia began to quiet down a bit 
she noticed it again. 

“Doro,” she exclaimed, “I do believe some¬ 
thing has happened to you!” 

“What something?” 

“I don’t know. But you are not—not happy 0 
What is it?” 

“Hungry,” said Dorothy, shortly. “Do stop 
primping now and come on down to breakfast.” 

“Well, you must be savagely hungry then, if it 
makes you like this,” grumbled Tavia. “And it 
is an hour before our usual breakfast time.” 

They went down in the elevator to the lower 


52 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 

floor, Tavia carrying the precious bag. She would 
not trust it out of her sight again, she said, as 
long as a penny was left in it. 

She attempted to go over to the clerk’s desk at 
the far side of the lobby to ask for the details 
of the recovery of her bag; but there were several 
men at the desk and Dorothy stopped her. 

“Wait until he is more at leisure,” she advised 
Tavia. “And until there are not so many men 
about.” 

“Oh, nonsense!” ejaculated Tavia, but she 
turned to follow Dorothy. Then she added: 
“Ah, there is one you won’t mind speak¬ 
ing to-” 

“Where?” cried Dorothy, stopping instantly. 

“Going into the dining-room,” said Tavia. 

Dorothy then saw the gray back of Garford 
Knapp ahead of them. She turned swiftly for the 
exit of the hotel. 

“Come!” she said, “let’s get a breath of air be¬ 
fore breakfast. It—it will give us an appetite!” 
And she fairly dragged Tavia to the sidewalk. 

“Well, I declare to goodness!” volleyed Tavia, 
staring at her. “And just now you were as hun¬ 
gry as a bear. And you still seem to have a bear’s 
nature. How rough! Don’t you want to see that 
young man?” 

“Never!” snapped Dorothy, and started 
straight along toward the Hudaan River. 



SOMETHING OF A MYSTERY 


53 

Tavia was for the moment silenced. But after 
a bit she asked slyly: 

“You’re not really going to walk clear home, 
are you, dear? North Birchland is a long, long 
walk—and the river intervenes.” 

Dorothy had to laugh. But her face almost im¬ 
mediately fell into very serious lines. Tavia, for 
once, considered her chum’s feelings. She said 
nothing regarding Garry Knapp. 

“Well,” she murmured. “I need no appetite— 
no more than I have. Aren’t you going to eat at 
all this morning, Dorothy?” 

“Here is a restaurant; let us go in,” said her 
friend promptly. 

They did so, and Dorothy lingered over the 
meal (which was nowhere as good as that they 
would have secured at the Fanuel) until she was 
positive that Mr. Knapp must have finished his 
own breakfast and left the hotel. 

In fact, they saw him run out and catch a car 
in front of the hotel entrance while they were still 
some rods from the door. Dorothy at once be¬ 
came brisker of movement, hurrying Tavia along. 

“We must really shop to-day,” she said with 
decision. “Not merely look and window-shop.” 

“Surely,” agreed Tavia. 

“And we’ll not come back to luncheon—it takes 
too much time,” Dorothy went on, as they hur¬ 
ried into the elevator. “Perhaps we can get tick- 


54 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 


ets for that nice play Ned and Nat saw when they 
were down here last time. Then, if we do, we will 
stay uptown for dinner-” 

“Mercy! All that time in the same clothes and 
without the prescribed ‘relax’?” groaned Tavia. 
“We’ll look as though we had been ground be¬ 
tween the upper and the nether millstone.” 

“Well- 

They had reached their rooms. Tavia turned 
upon her and suddenly seized Dorothy by both 
shoulders, looking accusingly into her friend’s 
eyes. 

“I know what you are up to. You are running 
away from that man.” 

“Oh! What-” 

“Never mind trying to dodge the issue,” said 
Tavia, sternly. “That Garry Knapp. And it 
seems he must be a pretty nappy sort, sure enough. 
He probably knew that girl and was ashamed to 
have us see him speaking to one so shabby. Now! 
what do you care what he does?” 

“I don’t,” denied Dorothy, hotly. “I’m only 
ashamed that we have been seen with him. And 
it is my fault.” 

“I’d like to know why?” 

“It was unnecessary for us to have become so 
friendly with him just because he did us a favor.” 

“Yes—but-” 


“It was I. I did it,” said Dorothy, almost in 






SOMETHING OF A MYSTERY 


55 


tears. “We should never allow ourselves to be¬ 
come acquainted with strangers in any such way. 
Now you see what it means, Tavia. It is not your 
fault—it is mine. But it should teach you a les¬ 
son as well as me.” 

“Goodness!” said the startled Tavia. “I don’t 
see that it is anything very terrible. The fellow 
is really nothing to us.” 

“But people having seen us with him—and then 
seeing him with that common-acting girl-—” 

“Pooh! what do we care?” repeated Tavia. 
“Garry Knapp is nothing to us, and never would 
be.” 

Dorothy said not another word, but turned 
quickly away from her friend. She was very 
quiet while they made ready for their shopping 
trip, and Tavia could not arouse her. 

Careless and unobservant as Tavia was, any¬ 
thing seriously the matter with her chum always 
influenced her. She gradually “simmered down” 
herself, and when they started forth from their 
rooms both girls were morose. 

As they passed through the lobby a bellhop was 
called to the desk, and then he charged after the 
two girls. 

“Please, Miss! Which is Miss Dale?” he 
asked, looking at the letter in his hand. 

Dorothy held out her hand and took it. It was 
wr: tten on the hotel stationery, and the handwrit- 



56 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 


ing was strange to her. She tore it open at once. 
She read the line or two of the note, and then 
stopped, stunned. 

“What is it?” asked Tavia, wonderiagly. 
Dorothy handed her the note. It was signed 
“G. Knapp” and read as follows: 

“Dear Miss Dale: 

“Did your friend get her bag and money all 
right?” 



CHAPTER VII 


GARRY SEES A WALL AHEAD 

“Why, what under the sun! How did he come 
to know about it?” demanded Tavia. “Good¬ 
ness!” 

“He—he maybe—had something to do with 
recovering it for you,” Dorothy said faintly. Yet 
in her heart she knew that it was hope that sug¬ 
gested the idea, not reason. 

“Well, I am going to find out right now,” de¬ 
clared Tavia Travers, and she marched back to 
the clerk’s desk before Dorothy could object, 
had she desired to. 

“This note to my friend is from Mr. Knapp, 
who is stopping here,” Tavia said to the young 
man behfnd the counter. “Did he have anything 
to do with getting back my bag?” 

“I know nothing about your bag, Miss,” said 
the clerk. “I was not on duty, I presume, when 
it was handed in. You are Miss-” 

“Travers.” 

The clerk went to the safe and found a memor¬ 
andum, which he read and t/ m returned to the 
desk. 


57 



58 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 


“Your supposition is correct, Miss Travers. 
Mr. Knapp handed in the handbag and took a 
receipt for it.” 

“When did he do that?” asked Tavia, quickly, 
almost overpowered with amazement. 

“Some time during the night. Before I came 
on duty at seven o’clock.” 

“Well! isn’t that the strangest thing?” Tavia 
said to Dorothy, when she rejoined her friend at 
the hotel entrance after thanking the clerk. 

“How ever could he have got it in the night?” 
murmured Dorothy. 

“Say! he’s all right—Garry Knapp is!” Tavia 
cried, shaking the bag to which she now clung so 
tightly, and almost on the verge of doing a few 
“steps of delight” on the public thoroughfare. “I 
could hug him!” 

“It—it is very strange,” murmured Dorothy, 
for she was still very much disturbed in her mind. 

“It’s particularly jolly,” said Tavia. “And I 
am going to—well, thank him, at least,” as she 
saw her friend start and glance at her admonish- 
ingly, “just the very first chance I get. But I 
ought to hug him! He deserves some re¬ 
ward. You said yourself that perhaps I should 
reward the finder.” 

“Mr. Knapp could not possibly have been the 
finder. The bag was merely returned through 
him.” Dorothy spoke positively. 


GARRY SEES A WALL AHEAD 


59 


“Don’t care. I must be grateful to some¬ 
body,” wailed Tavia. “Don’t nip my finer feel¬ 
ings in the bud. Your name should be Frost— 
Mademoiselle Jacquesette Frost! You’re always 
nipping me.” 

Dorothy, however, remained grave. She 
plainly saw that this incident foretold complica¬ 
tions. She had made up her mind that she and 
Tavia would have nothing more to do with the 
Westerner, Garry Knapp; and now her friend 
would insist on thanking him—of course, she must 
if only for politeness’ sake—and any further in¬ 
tercourse with Mr. Knapp would make the situa¬ 
tion all the more difficult. 

She wished with all her heart that their shop¬ 
ping was over, and then she could insist upon tak¬ 
ing the train immediately out of New York, even 
if she had to sink to the abhorred subterfuge of 
playing ill, and so frightening Tavia. 

She wished they might move to some other 
hotel; but if they did that an explanation must 
be made to Aunt Winnie as well as to Tavia. It 
seemed to Dorothy that she blushed all over— 
fairly burned —whenever she thought of discuss¬ 
ing her feelings regarding Garry Knapp. 

Never before in her experience had Dorothy 
Dale been so quickly and so favorably impressed 
by a man. Tavia had joked about it, but she by 
no means understood how deeply Dorothy felt. 


6 o DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 


And Dorothy would have been mortified to the 
quick had she been obliged to tell even her dearest 
chum the truth. 

Dorothy’s home training had been most deli¬ 
cate. Of course, in the boarding school she and 
Tavia had attended there were many sorts of 
girls; but all were from good families, and Mrs. 
Pangborn, the preceptress of Glenwood, had had 
a strict oversight over her girls’ moral growth as 
well as over their education. 

Dorothy’s own cousins, Ned and Nat White, 
though collegians, and of what Tavia called “the 
harum-scarum type” like herself, were clean, up¬ 
right fellows and possessed no low ideas or tastes. 
It seemed to Dorothy for a man to make the ac¬ 
quaintance of a strange girl on the street and talk 
with her as Garry Knapp seemed to have done, 
savored of a very coarse mind, indeed. 

And all the more did she criticise his action be¬ 
cause he had taken advantage of the situation of 
herself and her friend and “picked acquaintance” 
in somewhat the same fashion with them on their 
entrance into New York. 

He was “that kind.” He went about making 
the acquaintance of every girl he saw who would 
give him a chance to speak to her I That is the 
way it looked to Dorothy in her present mood. 

She gave Garry Knapp credit for being a West¬ 
erner and being not as conservative as Eastern 


GARRY SEES A WALL AHEAD 


61 


folk. She knew that people in the West were 
freer and more easily to become acquainted with 
than Eastern people. But she had set that girl 
down as a common flirt, and she believed no gen¬ 
tleman would so easily and naturally fall into con¬ 
versation with her as Garry Knapp had, unless he 
were quite used to making such acquaintances. 

It shamed Dorothy, too, to think that the young 
man should go straight from her and Tavia to the 
girl. 

That was the thought that made the keenest 
wound in Dorothy Dale’s mind. 

They shopped “furiously,” as Tavia declared., 
all the morning, only resting while they ate a bite 
of luncheon in one of the big stores, and then went 
at it again immediately afterward. 

“The boys talk about ‘bucking the line’ about 
this time of year—football slang, you know,” 
sighed Tavia; “but believe me! this is some ‘buck¬ 
ing.’ I never shopped so fast and furiously in all 
my life. Dorothy, you actually act as though you 
wanted to get it all over with and go home. And 
we can stay a week if we like. We’re having no 
fun at all.” 

Dorothy would not answer. She wished they 
could go home. It seemed to her as though New 
York City was not big enough in which to hide 
away from Garry Knapp. 

They could not secure seats—not those they 


62 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 


wanted—for the play Ned and Nat had told them 
to see, for that evening; and Tavia insisted upon 
going back to the hotel. 

“I am done up,” she announced. “I am a dish- 
rag. I am a disgrace to look at, and I feel that 
if I do not follow Lovely Lucy Larriper’s advice 
and relax, I may be injured for life. Come, Doro¬ 
thy, we must go back to our rooms and lie down, 
or I shall lie right down here in the gutter and do 
my relaxing.” 

They returned to the hotel, and Dorothy al¬ 
most ran through the lobby to the elevator, she 
was so afraid that Garry Knapp would be waiting 
there. She felt that he would be watching for 
them. The note he had written her that morn¬ 
ing proved that he was determined to keep up 
their acquaintanceship if she gave him the slight¬ 
est opening. 

“And I’ll never let him—never!” she told her¬ 
self angrily. 

“Goodness! how can you hurry so?” plaintively 
panted Tavia, as she sank into the cushioned seat 
in the elevator. 

All the time they were resting, Dorothy was 
thinking of Garry. He would surely be down¬ 
stairs at dinner time, waiting his chance to ap¬ 
proach them. She had a dozen ideas as to how 
she would treat him—and none of them seemed 
good ideas. 


GARRY SEES A WALL AHEAD 63 

She was tempted to write him a note in answer 
to the line he had left with the clerk for her that 
morning, warning him never to speak to her friend 
or herself again. But then, how could she do so 
bold a thing? 

Tavia got up at last and began to move about 
her room. “Aren’t you going to get up ever again, 
Doro?” she asked. “Doesn’t the inner man call 
for sustenance? Or even the outer man? I’m just 
crazy to see Garry Knapp and ask him how he 
came by my bag.” 

“Oh, Tavia! I wish you wouldn’t,” groaned 
Dorothy. 

“Wish I wouldn’t what?” demanded her friend, 
coming to her open door with a hairbrush in her 
hand and wielding it calmly. 

Dorothy “bit off” what she had intended to 
say. She could not bring herself to tell Tavia all 
that was in her mind. She fell back upon that 
“white fib” that seems first in the feminine mind 
when trouble portends: 

“I’ve such a headache!” 

“Poor dear!” cried Tavia. “I should think 
you had. You ate scarcely any luncheon-” 

“Oh, don’t mention eating!” begged Dorothy, 
and she really found she did have a slight head* 
ache now that she had said so. 

“Don’t you want your dinner?” cried Tavia, 
in horror. 



64 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 


“No, dear. Just let me lie here. You—you 
go down and eat. Perhaps I’ll have something 
light by and by.” 

“That’s what the Esquimau said when he ate 
the candle,” said Tavia, but without smiling. It 
was a habit with Tavia, this saying something 
funny when she was thinking of something entirely 
foreign to her remark. 

“You’re not going to be sick, are you, Doro?” 
she finally asked. 

“No, indeed, my dear.” 

“Well! you’ve acted funny all day.” 

“I don’t feel a bit funny,” groaned Dorothy. 
“Don’t make me talk—now.” 

So Tavia, who could be sympathetic when she 
chose, stole away and dressed quietly. She looked 
in at Dorothy when she was ready to go down¬ 
stairs, and as her chum lay with her eyes closed 
Tavia went out without speaking. 

Garry Knapp was fidgeting in the lobby when 
Tavia stepped out of the car. His eye brightened 
—then clouded again. Tavia noticed it, and her 
conclusion bore out the thought she had evolved 
about Dorothy upstairs. 

“Oh, Mr. Knapp!” she cried, meeting him with 
both hands outstretched. “Tell me! How did you 
find my bag?” 

And Garry Knapp was impolite enough to put 
her question aside for the moment while he asked: 


GARRY SEES A WALL AHEAD 65 

‘‘Where’s Miss Dale?” 

Two hours later Tavia returned to her chum. 
Garry walked out of the hotel with his face heav¬ 
ily clouded. 

“Just my luck! She’s a regular millionaire. 
Her folks have got more money than I’ll ever 
even see if I beat out old Methuselah in age ! And 
Miss Tavia says Miss Dale will be rich in her own 
right. Ah, Garry, old man! There’s a blank 
wall ahead of you. You can’t jump it in a hurry. 
You haven’t got the spring. And this little mess 
of money I may get for the old ranch won’t put 
me in Miss Dorothy Dale’s class—not by a mil¬ 
lion miles!” 

He walked away from the hotel, chewing on this 
thought as though it had a very, very bitter taste. 


CHAPTER VIII 


AND STILL DOROTHY IS NOT HAPPY 

“But what did he say?” demanded Dorothy, 
almost wildly, sitting up in bed at Tavia’s first 
announcement. “I want to know what he said!” 

“We-ell, maybe he didn’t tell the truth,” said 
Tavia, slowly. 

“We’ll find out about that later,” Dorothy de¬ 
clared. “Go on.” 

“How?” 

“Why, of course we must hunt up these girls 
and give them something for returning your bag.” 

“Oh! I s’pose so,” Tavia said. “Though I 
guess the little one, Number Forty-seven, wanted 
to keep it.” 

“Now, tell me a//,” breathed Dorothy, her eyes 
shining. “All he said—every word.” 

“Goodness! I guess your headache is better, 
Doro Dale,” laughed Tavia, sitting down on the 
edge of the bed. Dorothy said not a word, but 
her “listening face” put Tavia on her mettle. 

“Well, the very first thing he said,” she told 
her chum, her eyes dancing, “when I ran up to him 
and thanked him for getting my bag, was: 

66 


AND STILL DOROTHY IS NOT HAPPY 67 

“ ‘Where’s Miss Dale?’ 

“What do you know about that?” cried Tavia, 
in high glee. “You have made a deep, wide, long, 
and high impression—a four-dimension impres¬ 
sion—on that young man from the ‘wild and 
woolly.’ Oh yes, you have!” 

The faint blush that washed up into Dorothy 
Dale’s face like a gentle wave on the sea-strand 
made her look “ravishing,” so Tavia declared. 
She simply had to stop to hug her friend before 
she went on. Dorothy recovered her serenity al¬ 
most at once. 

“Don’t tease,, dear,” she said. “Go on with 
your story.” 

“You see, the little cash-girl—or ‘check’, as they 
call them—picked the bag up off the floor and hid 
it under her apron. Then she was scared—espe¬ 
cially when Mr. Schuman chanced to come upon 
us all as we were quarreling. I suppose Mr. Schu¬ 
man seems like a god to little Forty-seven. 

“Anyhow,” Tavia pursued, “whether the child 
meant to steal the bag or not at first, she was 
afraid to say anything about it then. Her sister— 
this girl who came to the hotel—works in the 
house furnishing department. Before night 
Forty-seven told her sister. She had heard Mr. 
Knapp’s name, and from the shipping clerk the 
big girl obtained the name of the hotel at which 
Mr. Knapp was staying. Do you see?” 


68 DOROTHY DALE'S ENGAGEMENT 


“Yes,” breathed Dorothy. “Go on, dear.” 

“Why, the girl just came here and asked for 
Mr. Knapp and found he was out. She didn’t 
know any better than to linger about outside and 
wait for him to appear—like Mary’s little lamb, 
you know! Little Forty-seven had told her sister 
what Mr. Knapp looked like, of course.” 

“Of course!” cried Dorothy, agreeing again, 
but in such a tone that Tavia frankly stared at 
her. 

“I do wish I knew just what is the matter with 
you to-day, Doro,” she murmured. 

“And the rest of it?” demanded Dorothy, her 
eyes shining and her cheeks still pink. 

“Why, when little Forty-seven’s sister saw us 
with Mr. Knapp she jumped to the correct conclu¬ 
sion that we were the girls who had lost the money, 
and so she was afraid to speak right out before 


“Why?” 

“Well, Dorothy,” said Tavia, with considerable 
gravity for her, “I guess because of the old and 
well-established reason.” 

“What’s that?” 

“Because a man will be kinder to a girl 
in trouble than other girls will—ordinarily, I 
mean.” 

“Oh, Tavia!” 

“Suppose it had been that Mrs. Halbridge who 



AND STILL DOROTHY IS NOT HAPPY 69 

Lad really lost her bag/’ Tavia went on to say. 
“If this girl had tried to return it, she and little 
Forty-seven both would have lost their jobs. Per¬ 
haps the police would have been called in. Do you 
see? I expect the big girl read kindness in Mr. 
Knapp’s face-” 

Dorothy suddenly threw both arms about 
Tavia, and hugged her tightly. “Oh, you dear!” 
she cried; but she would not explain what she 
meant by this sudden burst of affection. 

“Go on!” was her repeated demand. 

“You are insatiable, my dear,” laughed Tavia. 
“Well, there isn’t much more ‘go on’ to it. The 
girl spoke to him when he passed her on the street 
and quickly told him all the story. Of course, he 
promised that nothing should happen to either of 
them. They are honest girls—the older one at 
least. And the temptation came so suddenly to 
little Forty-seven, whose wages are so pitiably 
small.” 

“I know,” said Dorothy, gently. “You remem¬ 
ber, we learned something about it when little 
Miette De Pleau told us how she worked as cash- 
girl here years ago.” 

“Of course I remember,” Tavia said. “Well, 
that’s all, I guess. Oh no! I asked Mr. Knapp 
if he didn’t notice the big girl staring at us as we 
got to the hotel door last night. And what do 
you suppose he said?” 



70 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 

“I don’t know,” and Dorothy was still smiling 
happily. 

“Why, he said he didn’t. ‘You see,’ he added, 
in that funny way of his, T expect my eyes were 
elsewhere’; and he wasn’t complimenting me, 
either,” added Tavia, rolling her big eyes. 
“Whom do you suppose he could have meant he 
was looking at, Doro?” 

Her friend ignored the question, but hopped 
out of bed. 

“What are you going to do?” asked Tavia, in 
wonder. 

“Dress.” 

“But it is nine o’clock! Almost bedtime.” 

“Bedtime?” demanded Dorothy. “And in the 
city? Why, Tavia! you amaze me, child!” 

“But you’re not going out?” cried her friend. 

“Do you realize I haven’t had a bite of din¬ 
ner?” demanded the bold Dorothy. “I think you 
are very selfish.” 

“Well, anyway,” snapped Tavia, suddenly 
showing her claws—and who does not once in a 
while?—“ he } s gone out for a long walk and he ex¬ 
pects to finish his business to-morrow and go 
home.” 

“Oh!” gasped Dorothy. 

She sat on the edge of her bed with her first 
stocking in her hand. Tavia had gone back into 
her own room. Had she been present she must 


AND STILL DOROTHY IS NOT HAPPY 71 


have noticed all the delight fading out of Doro¬ 
thy Dale’s countenance. Finally, the latter tossed 
away the stocking, and crept back into bed. 

“I—I guess I’m too lazy to dress after all, 
dear,” she said, in a still little voice. “And you 
are tired, too, Tavia. The telephone has been 
fixed; just call down, will you, and ask them to 
send me up some tea and toast?” 


CHAPTER IX 


they see garry’s back 

The following day Dorothy was her old 
cheerful self—or so Tavia thought. They did not 
shop with such abandon, but took matters more 
easily. And they returned to the hotel for lunch¬ 
eon and for rest. 

“But he isn’t here!” Tavia exclaimed, when 
they entered the big restaurant for the midday 
meal. “And I remember now he said last evening 
that he would probably be down town almost all 
day to-day—trying to sell that property of his, 
you know.” 

“Who, dear?” asked Dorothy, with a far-away 
look on her face. 

“Peleg Swift!” snapped Tavia. “You know 
very well of whom I am talking. Garry Owen!” 
and she hummed a few bars of the old, old march. 

Garry certainly was not present; but Dorothy 
still smiled. They went out again and purchased 
a few more things. When they returned late in 
the afternoon the young Westerner was visible in 
the lobby the moment the girls came through the 
doorway. 


72 


THEY SEE GARRY’S BACK 


73 


But he was busy. He did not even see them. 
He was talking with two men of pronounced New 
York business type who might have been brokers 
or Wall Street men. All three sat on a lounge 
near the elevators, and Dorothy heard one of the 
strangers say crisply, as she and Tavia waited for 
a car: 

“That’s our top price, I think, Mr. Knapp. 
And, of course, we cannot pay you any money 
until I have seen the land, save the hundred for 
the option. I shall be out in a fortnight, I be¬ 
lieve. It must hang fire until then, even at this 
price.” 

“Well, Mr. Stiffbold-—it’s a bet!” Garry said, 
and Dorothy could imagine the secret sigh he 
breathed. Evidently, he was not getting the price 
for the wornout ranch that he had hoped. 

The two girls went up in the elevator and later 
made their dinner toilet. To-night Dorothy was 
the one who took the most pains in her primping; 
but Tavia said never a word. Nevertheless, she 
“looked volumes.” 

They were downstairs again not much later 
than half past six. Not a sign of Garry Knapp 
either in the lobby or in the dining-room. The 
girls ate their dinner slowly and “lived in hopes,” 
as Tavia expressed it. 

Both were frankly hoping Garry would ap¬ 
pear. Tavia was grateful to him for the part he 


74 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 

had taken in the recovery of her bag; and, too, 
he was “nice.” Dorothy felt that she had mis¬ 
judged the young Westerner, and she was fired 
with a desire to be particularly pleasant to him so 
as to salve over her secret compunctions of con¬ 
science. 

“ ‘He cometh not, she said,’ ” Tavia com¬ 
plained. “What’s the matter with the boy, any¬ 
way? Can he be eating in the cafe with those two 
men?” 

“Oh, Tavia!” suddenly exclaimed Dorothy. 
“You said he was going home to-day.” 

“Oh—ah—yes. He did say he expected to get 
out for the West again some time to-day-” 

“Maybe he’s go-o-one!” and Dorothy’s phrase 
was almost a wail. 

“Goodness! Never! Without looking us up 
and saying a word of good-bye?” 

Dorothy got up with determination. “I am go¬ 
ing to find out,” she said. “I feel that I would 
like to see Mr. Knapp again.” 

“Well! if / said a thing like that about a young 
man-” 

However, Tavia let the remark trail off into si¬ 
lence and followed her chum. As they came out 
of the dining-room the broad shoulders and broad- 
brimmed hat of Garry Knapp were going through 
the street door! 

“Oh!” gasped Dorothy. 




THEY SEE GARRY’S BACK 


75 

‘‘He’s going!” added Tavia, stricken quite as 
motionless. 

“Going-” 

“Gone!” ended Tavia, sepulchrally. “It’s all 
off, Dorothy. Garry Knapp, of Desert City, has, 
departed.” 

“Oh, we must stop him—speak to him-” 

Dorothy started for the door and Tavia, noth¬ 
ing loath, followed at a sharp pace. Just as they 
came out into the open street a car stopped be¬ 
fore the hotel door and Garry Knapp, “bag and 
baggage” stepped aboard. He did not even look 
back! 

As the girls returned to the hotel lobby the two 
men with whom they had seen Garry Knapp earlier 
in the evening, were passing out. They lingered 
while one of the men lit his cigar, and Dorothy 
heard the second man speaking. 

“I could have paid him spot cash for the land 
right here and been sure of a bargain, Lightly. I 
know just where it is and all about it. But it will 
do no harm to let the thing hang fire till I get out 
there. Perhaps, if I’m not too eager, I can get 
him to knock off a few dollars per acre. The boy 
wants to sell—that’s sure.” 

“Uh-huh!” grunted the one with the cigar. “It’ll 
make a tidy piece of wheat land without doubt, 
Stiffbold. You go for it!” 

They passed out then and the girl who had lis- 



76 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 


tened followed her friend slowly to the .elevator, 
deep in thought. She said not a word until they 
were upstairs again. Perhaps her heart was really 
too full just then for utterance. 

As they entered Dorothy’s room the girls saw 
that the maid had been in during their absence at 
dinner. There was a long box, unmistakably a 
florist’s box, on the table. 

“Oh, see what’s here!” cried Tavia, springing 
forward. 

The card on the box read: “Miss Dale.” 

“For you!” cried Tavia. “What meaneth it, 
fair Lady Dorothy? Hast thou made a conquest 
already? Some sweet swain-” 

“I don’t believe you know what a ‘sweet swain’ 
is,” laughed Dorothy. 

Her fingers trembled as she untied the purple 
cord. Tavia asked, with increased curiosity: 

“Who can they be from, Doro? Flowers, of 
course!” 

Dorothy said nothing in reply; but in her heart 
she knew—she knew! The cord was untied at 
last, the tissue paper, all fragrant and dewy, lifted. 

“Why!” said Tavia, rather in disappointment 
and doubt. “Not roses—or chrysanthemums— 


“Or anything foolish!” finished Dorothy, 
firmly. 

She lifted from their bed of damp moss a 




THEY SEE GARRY’S BACK 


77 


bouquet of the simplest old-fashioned flowers; 
mignonette, and several long-stemmed, dewy vio¬ 
lets and buttercups, pansies, forget-me-nots- 

“He must have been robbing all the old-fash¬ 
ioned gardens around New York,” said Tavia. 
“But that’s a lovely ribbon—and yards of it.” 

Dorothy did not speak at first. The cost of 
the gift meant nothing to her. Yet she knew that 
the monetary value of such a bouquet in New 
York must be far above what was ordinarily paid 
for roses and the like. 

A note was nestling in the stems. She opened 
it and read: 

“Dear Miss Dale: 

“Was mighty sorry to hear you are still in re¬ 
tirement. Your friend said last evening that you 
were quite done-up. Now I am forced to leave 
in a hurry without seeing you. Sent bellhop up to 
your room and he reports ‘no answer.* 

“But, without seeming too bold, will hope that 
we shall meet again—and that these few flowers 
will be a reminder of 

“Faithfully and regretfully yours, 

“G. Knapp.” 



CHAPTER X 


“heart disease” 

After one passes the railroad station at The 
Beeches, and before reaching the town limits of 
North Birchland, the traveler sees a gray road 
following closely the railway tracks, sometimes di¬ 
vided from them by rail-fences, sometimes by a 
ditch, and sometimes the railway roadbed is high 
on a bank overlooking the highway, 
j For several miles the road grades downward— 
not a sharp grade, but a steady one—and so does 
the railroad. At the foot of the slope the high¬ 
way keeps straight on over a bridge that spans the 
deep and boisterous creek; but a fork of the road 
turns abruptly and crosses the railroad at grade. 

There is no flagman at this grade crossing, 
nor is there a drop-gate. Just a “Stop, Look, Lis¬ 
ten” sign—two words of which are unnecessary, as 
some philosopher has pointed out. There hacl 
been some serious accidents at this crossing; but 
thus far the railroad company had found it cheaper 
to pay court damages than to pay a flagman and 
the upkeep of a proper gate on both sides of its 
right-of-way. 


78 


HEART DISEASE 3 


79 


When they came in sight of the down-hill part 
of the road Dorothy Dale and Tavia Travers 
knew it was time to begin to put on their wraps 
and take down their bags. The North Birchland 
station would soon be in sight. 

It was Dorothy who first stood up to reach for 
her bag. As she did so she glanced through the 
broad window, out upon the highway. 

“Oh, Tavia!” she gasped. 

“What’s the matter, dear? You don’t see 
Garry Knapp, do you? Maybe his buying those 
flowers—that ‘parting blessing’—‘busted’ him and 
he’s got to walk home clear to Desert City.” 

“Don’t be a goose!” half laughed Dorothy. 
“Look out. See if you see what I see.” 

“Why, Doro ! it’s Joe and Roger I do believe!” 

“I was sure it was,” returned her friend. “What 
can those boys be doing now?” 

“Well, what they are doing seems plain 
enough^” said Tavia. “What they are going to 
do is the moot question, my dear. You never 
know what a boy will do next, or what he did last; 
you’re only sure of what he is doing just now.” 

What the young brothers of Dorothy Dale were 
doing at that moment was easily explained. They 
were riding down the long slope of the gray road 
toward North Birchland, racing with the train 
Dorothy and Tavia were on. The vehicle upon 
which the boys were riding was a nondescript thing 


8o DOROTHY DALE'S ENGAGEMENT 


composed of a long plank, four wheels, a steering 
arrangement of more or less dependence, and a 
soap box. 

In the soap box was a bag, and unless the girls 
were greatly mistaken Joe and Roger Dale had 
been nutting over toward The Beeches, and the 
bag was filled with hickory nuts and chestnuts in 
their shells and burrs. 

Roger, who was the youngest, and whom Doro¬ 
thy continued to look upon as a baby, occupied the 
box with the nuts. Joe, who was fifteen, straddled 
the plank with his feet on the rests and steered. 
The boys’ vehicle was going like the wind. It 
looked as though a small stone in the road, or an 
uncertain jerk by Joe on the steering lines, would 
throw the contraption on which they rode sideways 
and dump out the boys. 

“Enough to give one heart disease,” said Tavia. 
“I declare! small brothers are a nuisance. When 
I’m at home in Dalton I have to wear blinders so 
as not to see my kid brothers at their antics.” 

“If something should happen, Tavia!” mur¬ 
mured Dorothy. 

“Something is always happening. But not often 
is it something bad,” said Tavia, coolly. 
“ ‘There’s a swate little cherub that sits up aloft, 
and kapes out an eye for poor Jack,’ as the Irish 
tar says. And there is a similar cherub looking 
out for small boys—or a special providence.” 


'HEART DISEASE’ 


81 


The train was now high on the embankment 
over the roadway. The two boys sliding down 
the hill looked very small, indeed, below the car 
windows. 

“Suppose a wagon should start up the hill,” 
murmured Dorothy. 

“There’s none in sight. I never saw the road 
more deserted—oh, Doro !” 

Tavia uttered this cry before she thought. She 
had looked far ahead to the foot of the hill and 
had seen something that her friend had not yet 
observed. 

“What is it?” gasped Dorothy, whose gaze was 
still fixed upon her brothers. 

“My dear! The bridge!” 

The words burst from Tavia involuntarily. 
She could not keep them in. 

At the foot of the hill the road forked as has 
before been shown. To the left it crossed the rail¬ 
road tracks at grade. Of course, these reckless 
boys had not intended to try for the crossing ahead 
of the train. But the main road, which kept 
straight on beside the tracks, crossed the creek 
on a wooden bridge. Tavia, looking ahead, saw 
that the bridge boards were up and there was a 
rough fence built across the main road! 

“They’ll be killed!” screamed Dorothy Dale, 
and sank back into her chair. 

The train was now pitching down the grade. 


82 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 


It was still a mile to the foot of the slope where 
railroad and highway were on a level again. The 
boys in their little “scooter” were traveling faster 
than the train itself, for the brakes had been ap¬ 
plied when the descent was begun. 

The boys and their vehicle, surrounded by a 
little halo of dust, were now far ahead of the 
chair car in which their sister and Tavia rode. 
The girls, clinging to each other, craned their 
necks to see ahead. There were not many other 
passengers in the car and nobody chanced to no¬ 
tice the horror-stricken girls. 

It was a race between the boys and the train, 
and the boys would never be able to halt their 
vehicle on the level at the bottom of the hill before 
crashing into the fence that guarded the open 
bridge. 

Were the barrier not there, the little cart would 
dart over the edge of the masonry wall of the 
bridge and all be dashed into the deep and rock- 
strewn bed of the creek. 

There was but one escape for the boys in any 
event. Perhaps their vehicle could be guided to 
the left, into the branch road and so across the 
railroad track. But if Joe undertook that would 
not the train be upon them? 

“Heart disease,” indeed! It seemed to Doro¬ 
thy Dale as though her own heart pounded so 
that she could no longer breathe. Her eyes 


“HEART DISEASE’' 83 

strained to see the imperiled boys down in the 
road. 

The “scooter’* ran faster and faster or was the 
train itself slowing down? 

“For sure and certain they are beating us!” 
murmured Tavia. 

She could appreciate the sporting chance in the 
race; but to Dorothy there loomed up nothing but 
the peril facing her brothers. 

The railroad tracks pitched rather sharply here. 
It was quite a descent into the valley where North 
Birchland lay. When the engineers of the pas¬ 
senger trains had any time to make up running 
west they could always regain schedule on this 
slope. 

Dorothy knew this. She realized that the engi¬ 
neer, watching the track ahead and not the road¬ 
way where the boys were, might be tempted to 
release his brakes when half way down the slope 
and increase his speed. 

If he did so and the boys, Joe and Roger, 
turned to cross the rails, the train must crash into 
the “scooter.” 


CHAPTER XI 


A BOLD THING TO DO I 

The threatening peril—which looked so sure 
to Dorothy Dale if to nobody else—inspired her 
to act, not to remain stunned and helpless. She 
jerked her hand from Tavia’s clutch and sprang 
to her feet. She had been reaching for her bag 
on first observing the boys coasting down the long 
hill beside the railroad tracks; and her umbrella 
was in the rack, too. She seized this. Its handle 
was a shepherd’s crook. Reaching with it, and 
without a word to Tavia, she hooked the handle 
into the emergency cord that ran overhead the 
length of the car, and pulled down sharply. In¬ 
stantly there was a shriek from the engine whistle 
and the brakes were sharply applied. 

The brake shoes so suddenly applied to the 
wheels on this downgrade did much harm to the 
wheels themselves. Little cared Dorothy for this 
well-known fact. If every wheel under the train 
had to go to the repair shop she would have made 
this bold attempt to stop the train or retard its 
speed, so that Joe and Roger could cross the 
tracks ahead of it. 


84 


A BOLD THING TO DO! 


85 


Glancing through the window she saw the boys’ 
“scooter” dart swiftly and safely into the fork- 
road and disappear some rods ahead of the pilot 
of the engine. The boys were across before the 
brakeman and the Pullman conductor opened the 
car door and rushed in. 

“Who pulled that emergency cord? Anybody 
here?” shouted the conductor. 

“Oh! don’t tell him!” breathed Tavia. 

But her friend, if physically afraid, was never 
a moral coward. She looked straight into the 
angry conductor’s face and said: 

“I did.” 

“What for?” he demanded. 

“To stop the train. My brothers were in dan- 


“Say! What’s that?” demanded the Pullman 
conductor of Tavia. “Where are her brothers?” 

The brakeman, who had long run over this road, 
pulled at the conductor’s sleeve. 

“That’s Major Dale’s girl,” he whispered, and 
Tavia heard if Dorothy did not. 

“Who’s Major Dale?” asked the conductor, in 
a low voice, turning aside. “Somebody on the 
road?” 

“Owns stock in it all right. And a bigwig 
around North Birchland. Go easy, I say,” ad¬ 
vised the brakeman, immediately turning back to 
the door. 



86 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 


The train, meanwhile, had started on again, 
for undoubtedly the other conductor had given 
the engineer the signal to go ahead. Through the 
window across the car Dorothy could see out upon 
the road beyond the tracks. There was the little 
“scooter” at a standstill. Joe and Roger were 
standing up and waving their caps at the train. 

“They’re safe!” Dorothy cried to Tavia. 

“1 see they are; but you’re not—yet,” returned 
her chum. 

“Who’s that is safe?” asked the conductor, still 
in doubt. 

“My brothers—there,” answered Dorothy, 
pointing. “They had to cross in front of the train 
because the bridge is open. They couldn’t stop at 
the bottom of the hill.” 

The Pullman conductor understood at last. 
“But I’ll have to make a report of this, Miss 
Dale,” he said, complainingly. 

Dorothy had seated herself and she was very 
pale. The fright for her at least had been se¬ 
rious. 

“Make a dozen reports if you like—help your¬ 
self,” said Tavia, tartly, bending over her friend. 
“If there is anything to pay send the bill to Major 
Dale.” 

The conductor grumbled something and went 
out, notebook in hand. In a few moments the 
train came to a standstill at the North Birchland 


A BOLD THING TO DO! 87 

station. The girls had to bestir themselves to get 
out in season, and that helped rouse Dorothy. 

“Those rascals!” said Tavia, once they were 
on the platform. “Joe and Roger should be 
spanked.” 

“I’m afraid Joe is too big for that,” sighed 
Dorothy. “And who would spank them? It is 
something they didn’t get when they were lit¬ 
tle-” 

“And see the result!” 

“Your brothers were whipped sufficiently, I am 
sure,” Dorothy said, smiling at length. “They are 
not one whit better than Joe and Roger.” 

“Dear me! that’s so,” admitted Tavia. “But 
just the same, I belieev in whippings—for boys.” 

“And no whippings for girls?” 

“I should say not!” cried Tavia. “There never 
was a girl who deserved corporal punishment.” 

“Not even Nita Brandt?” suggested Dorothy, 
naming a girl who had ever been a thorn in the 
flesh for Tavia during their days at Glenwood. 

“Well—perhaps she. But Nita’s about the 
only one, I guess.” 

The next moment Tavia started to run down 
the long platform, dropping her bag and scream¬ 
ing: 

“Jennie Hapgood! Jennie Jane Jemina Je- 
rusha Happiness— good! How ever came you 
here?” 



88 DOROTHY DALE'S ENGAGEMENT 


Dorothy was excited, too, when she saw the 
pretty girl whom Tavia greeted with such ebulli¬ 
tion; but she looked beyond Jennie Hapgood, the 
expected guest from Pennsylvania. 

There was the boys’ new car beside the station 
platform and Ned was under the steering-wheel 
while Nat was just getting out after Jennie. Of 
course, the two girls just back from New York 
were warmly kissed by Jennie. Then Nat came 
next and before Tavia realized what was being 
done to her, she was soundly kissed, too! 

“Bold, bad thing!” she cried, raising a gloved 
hand toward the laughing Nat. But it never 
reached him. Then Dorothy had to submit—as 
she always did—to the bearlike hugs of both her 
cousins, for Ned quickly joined them on the plat¬ 
form. Tavia escaped Ned—if, indeed, he had in¬ 
tended to follow his brother’s example. 

“What is the use of having a pretty cousin,” 
the White boys always said, “if we can’t kiss her? 
Keeps our hands in, you know. And if she has 
pretty friends, why shouldn’t we kiss them, too?” 

“Did you boys kiss Jennie when she arrived this 
morning?” Tavia demanded, repairing the ruffled 
hair that had fallen over her ears. 

“Certainly!” declared Nat, boldly. “Both of 
us.” 

“They never!” cried Jennie, turning very red. 
“You know I wouldn’t let these boys kiss me.” 



A BOLD THING TO DO! 


89 

“I bet a boy kissed you the last thing before 
you started up here from home,” teased Nat. 

“I never let boys kiss me,” repeated Jennie. 

“Oh, no!” drawled Ned, joining in with his 
brother. “How about Jack?” 

“Oh, well, Jack!” 

“Jack isn’t a boy, I suppose?” hooted Nat. “I 
guess that girl he’s going to marry about Christ¬ 
mas time thinks he’s a pretty nice boy.” 

“But he’s only my brother,” announced Jennie 
Hapgood, tossing her head. 

“Is he really?” cried Tavia, clasping her hands 
eagerly. 

“Is he really my brother?” demanded Jennie, 
in amazement. “Why, you know he is, Tavia 
Travers!” 

“Oh, no! I mean are they going to be married 
at Christmas?” 

“Yes. That is the plan now. And you’ve all 
got to come to Sunnyside to the wedding. Noth¬ 
ing less would suit Jack—or father and mother,” 
Jennie said happily. “So prepare accordingly.” 

Nat raced with Tavia for the bag she had 
dropped. He got it and clung to it all the way 
in the car to The Cedars, threatening to open it 
and examine its contents. 

“For I know very well that Tavia’s got oodles 
of new face powder and rouge, and a rabbit’s foot 
to put it on with—or else a kalsomine brush,” Nat 


90 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 


declared. “Joe and Roger want to paint the old 
pigeon house, anyway, and this stuff Tavia’s got 
in here will be just the thing.” 

In fact, the two big fellows were so glad to see 
their cousin and Tavia again that they teased 
worse than ever. A queer way to show their af¬ 
fection, but a boy’s way, after all. And, of course, 
everybody else at the Cedars was delighted to 
greet Dorothy and Tavia. It was some time be¬ 
fore the returned travelers could run upstairs to 
change their dresses for dinner. Jennie had gone 
into her room to change, too, and Tavia came to 
Dorothy’s open door. 

“Oh, that letter!” she exclaimed, seeing Doro¬ 
thy standing very gravely with a letter in her 
hand. “Haven’t you sent it?” 

“You see I haven’t,” Dorothy said seriously. 

“But why not?” 

“It seems such a bold thing to do,” confessed 
her friend. “We know so little about him. And 
it might encourage him to write in return-” 

“Of course it will!” laughed Tavia. 

“There! that’s what I mean. It is bold.” 

“But, you silly!” cried Tavia. “You only write 
Mr. Knapp to do him a good turn. And he did 
us a good turn—at least, he did me one that I shall 
never forget.” 

“True,” Dorothy said thoughtfully. “And I 
have only repeated to him in this note what I 



A BOLD THING TO DO! 


9i 


heard that man, Stiffbold, say about the purchase 
of Mr. Knapp’s ranch.” 

“Oh, help the poor fellow out. Those men will 
rob him,” Tavia advised. “Why didn’t you send 
it at once, when you had written it?” 

“I—I thought I’d wait and consult Aunt Win¬ 
nie,” stammered Dorothy. 

“Then consult her.” 

“But—but now I don’t want to.” 

Tavia looked at her with certainty in her own 
gaze. “I know what is the matter with you,” she 
said. 

Dorothy flushed quickly and Tavia shook her 
head, saying nothing more. But when the girls 
went downstairs to dinner, Tavia saw Dorothy 
drop the stamped letter addressed to “Mr. Gar- 
ford Knapp, Desert City,” into the mail bag in the 
hall. 


CHAPTER XII 


UNCERTAINTIES 

Dorothy had no time before dinner, but after 
that meal she seized upon her brothers, Joe and 
Roger, and led them aside. The boys thought she 
had something nice for them, brought from New 
York. They very quickly found out their mis¬ 
take. 

“I want to know what you boys mean by taking 
such risks as you did this afternoon?” she de¬ 
manded, when out of hearing of the rest of the 
family. She would not have her aunt or the major 
troubled by knowing of the escapade. 

‘‘You, especially, Joe,” she went on, with an ac¬ 
cusing finger raised. “You both might have been 
killed. Then how would you have felt?” 

“Er—dead, I guess, Sister,” admitted Roger, 
for Joe was silent. 

“Didn’t you know the road was closed because 
of repairs on the bridge?” she asked the older 
boy sternly. 

“No-o. We forgot. We didn’t go over to 
the nutting woods that way. Say! who told you?” 
blurted out Joe. 


92 



UNCERTAINTIES 


93 


‘‘Who told me what?” 

“About our race with the train. Cricky, but 
it was great!” 

“It was fine!” Roger added his testimony with 
equal enthusiasm. 

“I saw you,” said Dorothy, her face paling as 
she remembered her fright in the train. “I—I 
thought I should faint I was so frightened.” 

“Say! isn’t that just like a girl?” grumbled Joe; 
but he looked at his sister with some compunc¬ 
tion, for he and Roger almost worshipped her. 
Only, of course, they were boys and the usual 
boy cannot understand the fluttering terror in the 
usual girl’s heart when danger threatens. Not 
that Dorothy was a weakling in any way; she could 
be courageous for herself. But her fears were 
always excited when those she loved were in peril. 

“Why, we were only having fun, Sister,” Ro^er 
blurted out. Being considerably younger tha*i his 
brother he was quicker to be moved by Dorothy’s 
expression of feeling. 

“Fun!” she gasped. 

“Yes,” Joe said sturdily. “It was a great race. 
And you and Tavia were in that train? We 
didn’t have an idea, did we, Roger?” 

“Nop,” said his small brother thoughtlessly. 
“If we had we wouldn’t have raced that train.” 

“Now, I want to tell you something!” ex¬ 
claimed their sister, with a sharper note in her 


94 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 


voice. “You’re not to race any train! Under¬ 
stand, boys? Suppose that engine had struck you 
as you crossed the tracks?” 

“Oh, it wouldn’t,” Joe said stoutly. “I know 
the engineer. He’s a friend of mine. He saw 
I had the ‘right-of-way,’ as they call it. I’d beat 
him down the hill; so he held up the train.” 

“Yes—he held up the train,” said Dorothy with 
a queer little laugh. “He put on brakes because I 
pulled the emergency cord. You boys would never 

have crossed ahead of that train if I hadn’t done 

_ ^ » 
so. 

“Oh, Dorothy!” gasped Joe. 

“Oh, Sister!” cried Roger. 

“Tavia and I almost had heart disease,” the 
young woman told them seriously. “Engineers 
do not watch boys on country roads when they 
are guiding a great express train. It is a serious 
matter to control a train and to have the destinies 
of the passengers in one’s hands. The engineer is 
looking ahead—watching the rails and the road¬ 
bed. Remember that, boys.” 

“I’d like to be an engineer!” sighed Roger, his 
eyes big with longing. 

“Pooh!” Joe said. “It’s more fun to drive an 
automobile—like this new one Ned and Nat have. 
You don’t have to stay on the tracks, you know.” 

“Nobody but cautious people can learn to drive 
automobiles,” said Dorothy, seriously. 


UNCERTAINTIES 


95 


p 

“I’m big enough,” stated Joe, with conviction. 

“You may be. But you’re not careful enough,” 
his sister told him. “Your racing our train to¬ 
day showed that. Now, I won’t tell father or 
auntie, for I do not wish to worry them. But you 
must promise me not to ride down that hill in 
your little wagon any more or enter into any such 
reckless sports.” 

“Oh, we won’t, of course, if you say not, Doro¬ 
thy,” sniffed Joe. “But you must remember we’re 
boys and boys have got to take chances. Even 
father says that.” 

“Yes. When you are grown. You may be 
placed in situations where your courage will be 
tested. But, goodness me!” finished Dorothy 
Dale. “Don’t scare us to death, boys. And now 
see what I bought you in New York.” 

However, her lecture made some impression 
upon the boys’ minds despite their excitement over 
the presents which were now brought to light. 
Full football outfits for both the present was, and 
Joe and Roger were delighted. They wanted to 
put them on and go out at once with the ball to 
“pass signals,” dark as it had become. 

However, they compromised on this at Doro¬ 
thy’s advice, by taking the suits, pads and guards 
off to their room and trying them on, coming down¬ 
stairs later to “show off” before the folks in the 
drawing-room. 


9 6 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 


Major Dale was one of those men who never 
grow old in their hearts. Crippled as he was— 
both by his wounded leg and by rheumatism—he 
delighted to see the young life about him, and 
took as much interest in the affairs of the young 
people as ever he had. 

Aunt Winnie looked a very interesting invalid, 
indeed, with her lame ankle, and rested on the 
couch. The big boys and Dorothy and her friends 
always made much of Aunt Winnie in any case; 
now that she was “laid up in drydock,’’ as Nat ex¬ 
pressed it, they were especially attentive. 

Jennie and Tavia, with the two older boys, 
spent most of the evening hovering about the 
lady’s couch, or at the piano where they played 
and sang college songs and old Briarwood songs, 
till eleven o’clock. Dorothy sat between her 
father and Aunt Winnie and talked to them. 

“What makes you so sober, Captain?” the 
major asked during the evening. He had always 
called her “his little captain” and sometimes 
seemed really to forget that she had any other 
name. 

“I’m all right, Major,” she returned brightly. 
“I have to think, sometimes, you know.” 

“What is the serious problem now, Dorothy?” 
asked her aunt, with a little laugh. “Did you for¬ 
get to buy something while you were in New 
York?” 


UNCERTAINTIES 


97 


Dorothy dimpled. “Wait till you see all I did 
buy,” she responded, “and you will not ask that 
question. I have been the most reckless person!” 

“Why the serious pucker to your brow, Cap¬ 
tain?” went on the major. 

“Oh, I have problems. I admit the fact,” Doro¬ 
thy said, trying to laugh off their questioning. 

“Out with them,” advised her father. “Here 
are two old folks who have been solving problems 
all their lives. Maybe we can help.” 

Dorothy laughed again. “Try this one,” she 
said, with her eyes upon the quartette “harmoniz¬ 
ing” at the piano in dulcet tones, singing “Seeing 
Nellie Ho-o-ome.” “Which of our big boys does 
Tavia like best?” 

“Goodness!” exclaimed her aunt, while the 
major chuckled mellowly. “Don’t you know, 
really, Dorothy? I was going to ask you. I 
thought, of course, Tavia confided everything tp 
you.” 

“Sooner or later she may,” the young woman 
said, still with the thoughtful air upon her. “But 
I am as much in the dark about this query as any¬ 
body—perhaps as the boys themselves.” 

“Humph!” muttered the major. “Which of 
them likes her the better?” 

“And that I’d like to know,” said his sister 
earnestly. “There is another thing, Dorothy: 
Which of my sons is destined to fall in love with 


98 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 


this very, very pretty girl you have invited here— 
Jennie Hapgood, I mean?” 

“Oh! they’re all doing it, are they?” grunted 
the major. “How about our Dorothy? Where 
does she come in? No mate for her?” 

“I think I shall probably become an old maid,” 
Dorothy Dale said, but with a conscious flush that 
made her aunt watch her in a puzzled way for 
some time. 

But the major put back his head and laughed 
delightedly. “No more chance of your remain¬ 
ing a spinster—when you are really old enough 
to be called one—than there is of my leading 
troops into battle again,” he declared with 
warmth. “Hey, Sister?” 

“Our Dorothy is too attractive I am sure to 
escape the chance to marry, at least,” said Aunt 
Winnie, still watching her niece with clouded gaze. 
“I wonder whence the right knight will come rid¬ 
ing—from north, or south, east or west?” 

And in spite of herself Dorothy flushed up 
again at her aunt’s last word. 

It was a question oft-repeated in Dorothy 
Dale’s mind during the following days, this one 
regarding the state of mind of her two cousins 
and her two school friends. 

It had always seemed to Dorothy, whenever 
she had thought of it, that one of her cousins, 
either Ned or Nat, must in the end be preferred 


UNCERTAINTIES 


99 


by Tavia. To think of Tavia’s really settling 
down to caring for any other man than Ned or 
Nat, was quite impossible. 

On the other hand, the boys had both shown a 
great fondness for the society of Jennie Hapgood 
when they were all at her home in Pennsylvania 
such a short time previous; and now that all four 
were together again Dorothy could not guess 
“which was which” as Tavia herself would have 
said. 

The boys did not allow Dorothy to be over¬ 
looked in any particular. She was not neglected 
in the least; yet she did, as the days passed, find 
more time to spend with her father and with her 
Aunt Winnie. 

“The little captain is getting more thoughtful. 
She is steadying down,” the major told Mrs. 
White. 

“But I wonder why?” was that good woman’s 
puzzled response. 

Dorothy Dale sitting by herself with a book 
that she was not reading or with fancywork on 
which she'only occasionally took stitches, was en¬ 
tirely out of her character. She had never been 
this way before going to New York, Mrs. White 
was sure. <* 

There were several uncertainties upon the girl’s 
mind. One of them almost came to light when, 
after ten days, her letter addressed to “Mr. Gar- 


100 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 


ford Knapp, Desert City,” was returned to her 
by the post-office department, as instructed in the 
upper left-hand corner of the envelope. 

Her letter, warning Garry Knapp of the ad¬ 
vantage the real estate men wished to take of him, 
would, after all, do him no good. He would 
never know that she had written. Perhaps her 
path and Garry Knapp’s would never cross again. 


CHAPTER XIII 


DOROTHY MAKES A DISCOVERY 

The boys had a dog—Old Brindle he was 
called—and he had just enough bull in him to 
make him a faithful friend and a good watchdog. 
But, of course, he was of little use in the woods, 
and Joe and Roger were always begging for a 
hunting dog. 

“We’ve got these now—pump-rifles,” Roger 
said eagerly to Dorothy, whom he thought able 
to accomplish any wonder she might undertake. 
“They shoot fifty shots. Think of it, Sister! 
That’s a lot. And father taught us how to use 
’em long ago, of course. Just think! I could 
stand right up and shoot down fifty people—just 
like that.” 

“Oh, Roger!” gasped Dorothy. “Don’t say 
such awful things.” 

“Oh, I wouldn’t, you know; but I could,” the 
boy said confidently. “Now the law is off rab¬ 
bits and partridges and quail. Joe and I saw lots 
of ’em when we went after those nuts the other 
day. If we’d had our guns along maybe we might 
have shot some.” 

IOI 


102 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 


“The poor little birds and the cunning little 
rabbits,” said Dorothy with a sigh. 

“Oh! they’re not like our pigeons and our tame 
rabbits. These are real wild. If some of ’em 
weren’t shot they’d breed an’ breed till there were 
so many that maybe it wouldn’t be safe to go out 
into the woods,” declared the small boy, whose 
imagination never needed spurring. 

Joe came up on the porch in time to hear this 
last. He chuckled, but Dorothy was saying to 
Roger: 

“How foolish, dear! Who ever heard of a 
rabbit being cross?” 

“Just the same I guess you’ve heard of being 
as ‘mad as a March hare,’ haven’t you?” de¬ 
manded Joe, his eyes twinkling. “And we do want 
a bird dog, Sis, to jump a rabbit for us, or to 
flush a flock of quail.” 

“Those dear little bobwhites,” Dorothy sighed 
again. “Why is it that boys want always to kill?” 

“So’s to eat,” Joe said bluntly. “You know 
yourself, Dorothy Dale, that you like partridge 
on toast and rabbit stew.” 

She laughed at them. “I shall go hungry, then* 
I’m afraid, as far as you boys are concerned.” 

“Of course we can’t get any game if we don’t 
have a dog. Brindle couldn’t jump a flea,” 
growled Joe. 

“Say! the big fellows used to have lots more 


DOROTHY MAKES A DISCOVERY 103 

pets than we’ve got,” complained Roger, referring 
to Ned and Nat. 

“They had dogs,” added Joe. “A whole raft 
of ’em.” 

“Oh, dear me!” exclaimed Dorothy. “I’ll see 
what can be done. But another dog!” 

“We won’t let him bite you, Sister,” proclaimed 
Roger. “We only want him to chase rabbits or 
to start up the birds so we can shoot ’em.” 

Dorothy’s “I’ll see” was, of course, taken by 
the boys themselves as an out-and-out agreement 
to do as the boys desired. They were convinced 
that if she gave her mind to it their sister could 
perform almost any miracle. At least, she could 
always bring the rest of the family around to her 
way of thinking. 

Ned and Nat had opposed the bringing of an¬ 
other dog upon the place. They were fond of 
old Brindle; but it must be confessed that the 
watchdog was bad tempered where other dogs 
were concerned. 

Brindle seldom went off the place; but if he 
saw any other dog trespassing he was very apt to 
fly at the uninvited visitor. And once the bull’s 
teeth were clinched in the strange animal’s neck, 
it took a hot iron to make him loose his hold. 

There had been several such unfortunate hap¬ 
penings, and Mrs. White had paid several own¬ 
ers of dogs damages rather than have trouble 


104 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 


with the neighbors. She—and even the major— 
had strong objections to the coming of any other 
dog upon the place as long as Brindle lived. 

So the chance for Joe and Roger to have their 
request granted was small indeed. Nevertheless, 
“hope springs eternal,” especially in the breast of 
a small boy who wants a dog. 

“Maybe we can find somebody that’s got a good, 
trained dog and will sell him to us, Roger,” Joe 
said, as they set forth from the house. 

“But I haven’t got much money—only what’s 
in the bank, and I can’t get that,” complained 
Roger. 

“You spend all you get for candy,” scoffed Joe. 
“Now, I >e ve got a whole half dollar left of my 
month’s spending money. But you can’t buy much 
of a dog for fifty cents.” 

“Maybe somebody would give us a dog.” 

“And folks don’t give away good dogs, either,” 
grumbled Joe. 

“I tell you!” exclaimed Roger, suddenly. “I 
saw a stray dog yesterday going down the lane 
behind our stables.” 

“How do you know it was a stray dog?” 

“ ’Cause it looked so. It was sneaking along 
at the edge of the hedge and it was tired looking. 
Then, it had a piece of frayed rope tied around 
its neck. Oh, it was a stray dog all right,” de¬ 
clared the smaller boy eagerly. 


DOROTHY MAKES A DISCOVERY 105 

“Where’dit go to?” 

“Under Mr. Cummerford’s barn,” said Roger. 
“I bet we could coax it out, if it’s still there.” 

“Not likely,” grunted Joe. 

Nevertheless, he started off at once in the di¬ 
rection indicated by his brother, and the boys were 
soon at the stable of the neighbor whose place ad¬ 
joined The Cedars on that side. 

Oddly enough, the dog was still there. He had 
crawled out and lay in the sun beside the barn. 
He was emaciated, his eyes were red and rolling, 
and he had a lame front paw. The gray, frayed 
rope was still tied to his neck. He was a regular 
tramp dog. 

But he allowed the boys to come close to him 
without making any attempt to get away. He 
eyed them closely, but neither growled nor wagged 
his tail. He was a “funny acting” dog, as Roger 
said. 

“I bet he hasn’t had anything to eat for so long 
and he’s come so far that he hasn’t got the spunk 
to wag his tail,” Joe said, as eager as Roger now. 
“We’ll take him home and feed him.” 

“He’s sure a stray dog, isn’t he, Joe?” cried 
the smaller boy. “I haven’t ever seen him before 
around here, have you?” 

“No. And I bet his owner won’t ever come 
after him,” said Joe, picking up the end of the 
rope. “He’s just the kind of a dog we want, too. 


io6 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 


You see, he’s a bird dog, or something like that. 
And when he’s fed up and rested, I bet he’ll know 
just how to go after partridges.” 

He urged the strange dog to his feet. The 
beast tottered, and would have lain down again. 
Roger, the tender-hearted, said: 

“Oh! he’s so hungry. Ret he hasn’t had a 
thing to eat for days. Maybe we’ll have to carry 
him.” 

“No. He’s too dirty to carry,” Joe said, look¬ 
ing at the mud caked upon the long hair of the 
poor creature and the dust upon him. “We’ll get 
him to the stable and feed him; then we’ll hose 
him off.” 

Pulling at the rope he urged the dog on. The 
animal staggered at first, but finally grew T firmer 
on his legs. Rut he did not use the injured fore 
paw. He favored that as he hopped along to the 
White stables. Neither the coachman nor the 
chauffeur were about. There was nobody to ob¬ 
serve the dog or advise the boys about the beast. 
Roger ran to the kitchen door to beg some scraps 
for their new possession. The cook would al¬ 
ways give Roger what he asked for. When he 
came back Joe got a pan of water for the dog; 
but the creature backed away from it and whined 
—the first sound he had made. 

“Say! isn’t that funny?” Joe demanded. “See! 
he won’t drink. You’d think he’d be thirsty.” 


DOROTHY MAKES A DISCOVERY 107 

“Try him with this meat,” Roger said. 
“Maybe he’s too hungry to drink at first.” 

The dog was undoubtedly starving. Yet he 
turned his head away from the broken pieces of 
food Roger put down before his nose. 

Joe had tied the rope to a ring on the side of 
the stable. The boys stepped back to see if the 
dog would eat or drink if they were not so close 
to him. Then it was that the creature flew into 
an awful spasm. He rose up, his eyes rolling, 
trembling in every limb, and trying to break the 
rope that fastened him to the barn. Froth flew 
from his clashing jaws. His teeth were terrible 
fangs. He fell, rolling over, snapping at the 
water-dish. The boys, even Joe, ran screaming 
from the spot. 

At the moment Dorothy, Tavia and Jennie came 
walking down the path toward the stables. They 
heard the boys scream and all three started to 
run. Ned and Nat, nearer the house, saw the 
girls running and they likewise bounded down the 
sloping lawn. 

Around the corner of the stables came Joe and 
Roger, the former almost dragging the smaller 
boy by the hand. And, almost at the same instant, 
appeared the dog, the broken rope trailing, bound¬ 
ing, snapping, rolling over, acting as insanely as 
ever a dog acted. 

“Ohl what’s the matter?” cried Dorothy. 


io8 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 


“Keep away from that dog!” shrieked Tavia, 
stopping short and seizing both Dorothy and Jen¬ 
nie. “He’s mad!” 

The dog was blindly running, this way and 
that, the foam dripping from his clashing jaws. 
He was, indeed, a most fearful sight. He had no 
real intention in his savage charges, for a beast 
so afflicted with rabies loses eyesight as well as 
sense; but suddenly he bounded directly for the 
three girls. 

They all shrieked in alarm, even Dorothy. Yet 
the latter the better held her self-possession than 
the others* She heard Jennie scream: “Oh, Ned!” 
while Tavia cried: “Oh, Nat!” 

The young men were at the spot in a moment. 
Nat had picked up a croquet mallet and one good 
blow laid the poor dog out—harmless forever 
more. 

Tavia had seized the rescuer’s arm, Jennie was 
clinging to Ned. Dorothy, awake at last to the 
facts of the situation, made a great discovery— 
and almost laughed, serious as the peril had been. 

“I believe I know which is which now,” she 
thought, forgetting her alarm. 



SUDDENLY HE BOUNDED DIRECTLY FOR THE THREE GIRLS. 
Dorothy Dale’s Engagement Page 108 





CHAPTER XIV 


TAVIA IS DETERMINED 

“After that scare I’m afraid the boys will have 
to go without a bird dog,” Tavia said that night 
as she and Dorothy were brushing their hair be¬ 
fore the latter’s dressing-glass. 

Tavia and Jennie and Ned and Nat were al¬ 
most inseparable during the daytime; but when the 
time came to retire the flyaway girl had to have 
an old-time “confab,” as she expressed it, with 
her chum. 

Dorothy was so bright and so busy all day long 
that nobody discovered—not even the major— 
that she was rather “out of it.” The two couples 
of young folk sometimes ran away and left Doro¬ 
thy busy at some domestic task in which she 
claimed to find much more interest than in the 
fun her friends and cousins were having. 

“It would have been a terrible thing if the poor 
dog had bitten one of us,” Dorothy replied. “Dr. 
Agnew, the veterinary, says without doubt it was 
afflicted with rabies.” 

“And how scared your Aunt Winnie was!” 
Then Tavia began to giggle. “She will be so 
109 


no DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 


afraid of anything that barks now, that she’ll 
want all the trees cut down around the house.” 

“That pun is unworthy of you, my dear,” Doro¬ 
thy said placidly. 

“Dear me, Doro Doodlekins!” exclaimed 
Tavia, suddenly and affectionately, coming close 
to her chum and kissing her warmly. “You are 
such a tabby-cat all of a sudden. Why! you have 
grown up, while the rest of us are only kids.” 

“Yes; I am very settled,” observed Dorothy, 
smiling into the mirror at her friend. “A cap for 
me and knitting very soon, Tavia. Then I shall 
sit in the chimney corner and think-” 

“Think about whom, my dear?” Tavia asked 
saucily. “That Garry Knapp, I bet.” 

“I wouldn’t bet ” sighed Dorothy. “It isn’t 
ladylike.” 

“Oh—de-ah—me!” groaned Tavia. “You are 
thinking of him just the same.” 

“I happened to be just now,” admitted Doro¬ 
thy, and without blushing this time. 

“No! were you really?” demanded Tavia, eag¬ 
erly. “Isn’t it funny he doesn’t write?” 

“No. Not.at all.” 

“But you’d think he would write and thank you 
for your letter if nothing more,” urged the argu¬ 
mentative Tavia. 

“No,” said Dorothy again. 

“Why not?” 



TAVIA IS DETERMINED 


hi 


“Because Mr. Knapp never got my letter,” 
Dorothy said, opening her bureau drawer and pull¬ 
ing the letter out from under some things laid 
there. “See. It was returned to-day.” 

“Oh, Dorothy!” gasped Tavia, both startled 
and troubled. 

“Yes. It—it didn’t reach him somehow,” 
Dorothy said, and she could not keep the trouble 
entirely out of her voice. 

“Oh, my dear!” repeated Tavia. 

“And I am sorry,” her friend went on to say; 
“for now he will not know about the intentions of 
those men, Stiffbold and Lightly.” 

“But, goodness! it serves him right,” exclaimed 
Tavia, suddenly. “He didn’t give us his right ad¬ 
dress.” 

“He gave us no address,” said Dorothy, sadly. 

“Why, yes! he said Desert City-” 

“He mentioned that place and said that his land 
was somewhere near there. But he works on a 
ranch, which, perhaps, is a long way from Desert 
City.” 

“That’s so,” grumbled Tavia. “I forgot he’s 
only a cowboy.” 

At this Dorothy flushed a little and Tavia, 
looking at her sideways and eagerly, noted the 
flush. Her eyes danced for a moment, for the girl 
was naturally chock-full of mischief. 

But in a moment the expression of Tavia Trav- 



112 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 


er’s face changed. Dorothy was pensively gaz¬ 
ing in the glass; she had halted in her hair brush¬ 
ing, and Tavia knew that her chum neither saw her 
own reflection nor anything else pictured in the 
mirror. The mirror of her mind held Dorothy’s 
attention, and Tavia could easily guess the vision 
there. A tall, broad-shouldered, broad-hatted 
young man with a frank and handsome face and 
a ready smile that dimpled one bronzed cheek ever 
so little and wrinkled the outer corners of his clear, 
far-seeing ey§s. 

Garry Knapp! 

Tavia for the first time realized that Dorothy 
had found interest and evidently a deep and abid¬ 
ing interest, in the young stranger from Desert 
City. It rather shocked her. Dorothy, of all 
persons, to become so very deeply interested in a 
man about whom they knew practically nothing. 

Tavia suddenly realized that she knew more 
about him than Dorothy did. At least, she had 
been with Garry Knapp more than had her friend. 
It was Tavia who had had the two hours’ tete-a- 
tete with the Westerner at dinner on the evening 
before Garry Knapp departed so suddenly for the 
West. All that happened and was said at that 
dinner suddenly unrolled like a panorama before 
Tavia’s memory. 

Why! she could picture it all plainly. She had 
been highly delighted herself in the recovery of 


TAVIA IS DETERMINED 


ll 3 

her bag and in listening to Garry’s story of how 
it had been returned by the cash-girl’s sister. And, 
of course, she had been pleased to be dining alone 
with a fine looking young man in a hotel dining¬ 
room. She had rattled on when her turn came to 
talk, just as irresponsibly as usual. 

Now, in thinking over the occasion, she real¬ 
ized that the young man from the West had been 
a shrewd questioner. He had got her started 
upon Dorothy Dale, and before they came to the 
little cups of black coffee Tavia had told just about 
all she knew regarding her chum. 

The reader may be sure that all Tavia said was 
to Dorothy’s glory. She had little need to explain 
to Garry Knapp what a beautiful character Doro¬ 
thy Dale possessed. Tavia had told about Doro¬ 
thy’s family, her Aunt Winnie’s wealth, the for¬ 
tunes Major Dale now possessed both in the East 
and West, and the fact that when Dorothy came 
of age, at twenty-one, she would be wealthy in her 
own right. She had said all this to a young man 
who was struggling along as a cowpuncher on a 
Western ranch, and whose patrimony was a piece 
of rundown land that he could sell but for a 
song, as he admitted himself. “And no chorus 
to it 1” Tavia thought. 

“I’m a bonehead!” she suddenly thought 
fiercely. “Nat would say my noodle is solid ivory. 
I know now what was the matter with Garry 


114 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 


Knapp that evening. I know why he rushed up 
to me and asked for Dorothy, and was what the 
novelists call ‘distrait’ during our dinner. Oh, 
what a worm lam! A miserable, squirmy worm! 
Ugh !” and the conscience-stricken girl fairly shud¬ 
dered at her own reflection in the mirror and 
turned away quickly so that Dorothy should not 
see her features. 

“It’s—it’s the most wonderful thing. And it 
began right under my nose, my poor little ‘re-trous¬ 
ered’ nose, as Joe called it the other day, and I 
didn’t really see it! I thought it was just a fancy 
on Dorothy’s part! And I never thought of 
Garry Knapp’s side of it at all! Oh, my heaven!” 
groaned Tavia, deep in her own soul. “Why 
wasn’t I born with some good sense instead of 
good looks? I—I’ve spoiled my chum’s life, per¬ 
haps. Goodness! it can’t be so bad as that. 

“Of course, Garry Knapp is just the sort of 
fellow who would raise a barrier of Dorothy’s 
riches between them. Goodness me!” added the 
practical Tavia, “I’d like to see any barrier of 
wealth stop me if I wanted a man. I’d shin the 
wall in a hurry so as to be on the same side of it 
as he was.” 

She would have laughed at this fancy had she 
not taken a look at Dorothy’s face again. 

“Good-night!” she shouted into her chum’s ear, 
hugged her tight, kissed her loudly, and ran away 


TAVIA IS DETERMINED 115 

into her own room. Once there, she cried all the 
time she was disrobing, getting into her lacy night¬ 
gown, and pulling down the bedclothes. 

Then she did not immediately go to bed. In¬ 
stead, she tiptoed back to the connecting door and 
closed it softly. She turned on the hanging elec¬ 
tric light over the desk. 

“I’ll do it!” she said, with determined mien. 
“I’ll write to Lance Petterby.” And she did so. 


CHAPTER XV 


THE SLIDE ON SNAKE HILL 

Joe and Roger marched down at an early break¬ 
fast hour from the upper regions of the big white 
house, singing energetically if not melodiously a 
paen of joy: 

“ ‘The frog he would a-wooing go- 

Bully for you ! Bully for all! 

The frog he would a-wooing go- 

Bully for all, we say!’ ” 

The boys’ determination to reach the low regis¬ 
ter of a bullfrog in that “bully for all” line was 
very, very funny, especially in Roger’s case, Tor 
his speaking voice was naturally a shrill treble. 

Their joy, however, awoke any sleepers there 
might have been in the house, and most of them 
came to their bedroom doors and peered out. 

“What’s the matter with you blamed little ras¬ 
cals?” Ned, in a purple bathrobe, demanded. 

“Wouldn’t you boys just as lief sing as to make 
that noise?” Nat, in a gray robe, and at his door, 
questioned. 



THE SLIDE ON SNAKE HILL 


117 


But he grinned at his small cousins, for it hadn’t 
been so long ago that he was just as much of a 
boy as they were. 

“Hello, kids!” cried Tavia, sticking out a tous- 
eled head from her room. “Tell us: What’s the 
good news?” 

Jennie Hapgod peered out for an instant, saw 
Ned and Nat, and darted back with an exclama¬ 
tory “Oh!” 

“I—I thought something had happened,” she 
faintly said, closing her door all but a crack. 

“Something has,” declared Joe. 

“What is it, boys?” asked Dorothy, appearing 
fully dressed from her room. “The ice ?” 

“What ice?” demanded Tavia. “Has the ice¬ 
man come so early? Tell him to leave a big ten- 
cent piece.” 

“Huh!” grunted Roger, “there’s a whole lot 
more than a ten-cent piece outside, and you’d see 
it if you’d put up your shade. The whole world’s 
ice-covered.” 

“So it is,” Joe agreed. 

“There was rain last evening, you know,” Doro¬ 
thy said, starting down the lower flight of stairs 
briskly. “And then it turned very cold. Every¬ 
thing is sheathed in ice out-of-doors. Doesn’t the 
warm air from the registers feel nice? I do love 
dry heat, even if it is more expensive.” 

“Bully!” roared Nat, who had darted back to 


ii8 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 


run up the shade at one of the windows in his 
room. “Look out, girls! it’s great.” 

Every twig on every bush and tree and every 
fence rail and post were covered with glistening 
ice. The sun, just rising red and rosy as though 
he had but now come from a vigorous morning 
bath, threw his rays in profusion over this fairy 
world and made a most spectacular scene for the 
young people to look out upon. In an hour all of 
them were out of doors to enjoy the spectacle in 
a “close up,” as Tavia called it. 

“And we all ought to have spectacles!” she ex¬ 
claimed a little later. “This glare is blinding, and 
we’ll all have blinky, squinty eyes by night.” 

“Automobile goggles—for all hands!” ex¬ 
claimed Nat. “They’re all smoked glasses, too. 
I’ll get ’em,” and he started for the garage. 

“But no automobile to-day,” laughed Jennie. 
“Think of the skidding on this sheet of ice.” For 
the ground was sheathed by Jack Frost, as w r ell 
as the trees and bushes and fences. 

Joe and Roger, well wrapped up, were just 
starting from the back door and Dorothy hailed 
them: 

“Where away, my hearties? Ahoy!” 

“Aw—we’re just going sliding,” said Roger, 
stuttering. 

, “Where?” demanded the determined older sis¬ 


ter. 


THE SLIDE ON SNAKE HILL 


”9 

“Snake Hill,” said Joe, shortly. He loved 
Dorothy; but this having girls “butting in” all the 
time frayed his manly patience. 

“Take care and don’t get hurt, boys!” called 
Tavia, roguishly, knowing well that the v sisterly ad¬ 
vice was on the tip of Dorothy’s tongue and that 
it would infuriate the small boys. 

“Aw, you-” 

Joe did not get any farther, for Nat in pass¬ 
ing gave him a look. But he shrugged his shoul¬ 
ders and went on with Roger without replying to 
Tavia’s advice. 

“Oh, what fun!” cried Jennie Hapgood, sud¬ 
denly. “Couldn’t we go coasting?” 

“Sure we could,” Ned agreed instantly. Lately 
he seemed to agree with anything Jennie said and 
that without question. 

“Tobogganing—oh, my!” cried Tavia, quick 
to seize upon a new scheme for excitement and fun. 
Then she turned suddenly serious and added: “If 
Dorothy will go. Not otherwise.” 

Dorothy laughed at her openly. “Why not, 
Tavia?” she demanded. “Are you afraid to trust 
the boys unless I’m along? I know they are 
awful cut-ups.” 

“I feel that Jennie and I should be more care¬ 
fully chaperoned,” Tavia declared with serious 
ps but twinkling eyes. 

“Oh! Oh! OH!” in crescendo from Nat, re- 



120 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 

turning in time to hear this. “Who needs a ‘bag 

o’ bones’- Excuse me! ‘Chaperon,’ I mean? 

What’s afoot?” 

Just then he slipped on the glare ice at the foot 
of the porch steps and went down with a crash. 

“You’re not, old man,” cried Ned as the girls 
squealed. “I hope you have your shock-absorb¬ 
ers on. That was a jim-dandy!” 

“Did—did it hurt you, Nat?” begged Tavia, 
with clasped hands. 

“Oh-ugh!” grunted Nat, gingerly arising and 
examining the handful of goggles he carried to 
see if they were all right. “Every bone in my 
body is broken. Gee! that was some smash.” 

“Do it again, dear,” Ned teased. “Your 
mother didn’t happen to see you and she’s at the 
window now.” 

“Aw, you go fish!” retorted the younger 
brother, for his dignity was hurt if nothing else. 
“Wish it had been you.” 

“So do I,” sighed Ned. “I’d have done it so 
much more gracefully. You see, practice in the 
tango and foxtrot, not to mention other and more 
intricate dance steps, does help one. And you 
never would give proper attention to your danc¬ 
ing, Sonny.” 

“Here!” threatened Nat. “I’ll dance one of 
my fists off your ear-” 

“I shall have to part you boys,” broke in Doro- 




THE SLIDE ON SNAKE HILL 


121 


thy. “Threatening each other with corporal pun¬ 
ishment—and before the ladies.” < 

“Why,” declared Ned, hugging his brother in 
a bearlike hug as Nat reached his level on the 
porch. “He can beat me to death if he likes, the 
dear little thing! Come on, ’Thaniel. What do 
you say to giving the girls a slide?” 

“Heh?” ejaculated Nat. “What do you want 
to let ’em slide for? Got sick of ’em so quick? 
Where are your manners?” 

“Oh, Ned!” groaned Tavia. “Don’t you want 
us hanging around any more?” 

“I am surprised at Mr. Edward,” Jennie joined 
in. 

“Gee, Edward,” said Nat, grinning, “but you 
do put your foot in your mouth every time you 
open it.” 

Dorothy laughed at them all, but made no com¬ 
ment. Despite her late seriousness she was jolly 
enough when she was one of the party. And she 
agreed to be one to-day. 

It was decided to get out Nat’s old “double¬ 
ripper,” see that it was all right, and at once start 
for Snake Hill, where the smaller boys had already 
gone. 

“For this sun is going to melt the ice a good 
deal by noon. Of course, it will be only a short 
cold snap this time of year,” Dorothy said, with 
her usual practical sense. 


122 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 


They were some time in setting out, and it was 
not because the girls “prinked,” as Tavia pointed 
out. 

“I’d have you know we have been waiting five 
whole minutes,” she proclaimed when Ned and 
Nat drew the long, rusty-ironed, double-ripper sled 
out of the barn. “For once you boys cannot com¬ 
plain.” 

“Those kids had been trying to use this big sled, 
I declare,” Nat said. “And I had to find a couple 
of new bolts. Don’t want to break down on the 
hill and spill you girls.” 

“That would be spilling the beans for fair,” 
Ned put in. “Oh, beg pardon! Be-ings, I mean. 
Get aboard, beautiful beings, and we’ll drag you 
to the foot of the hill.” 

They went on down the back road and into the 
woods with much merriment. The foot of Snake 
Hill was a mile and a half from The Cedars. 
Part of the hill was rough and wild, and there 
was not a farm upon its side anywhere. 

“I wonder where the kids are making their 
slide?” said Tavia, easily. 

“That’s why I am glad we came this way,” 
Dorothy confessed. “They might be tempted to 
slide down on this steep side, instead of going 
over to the Washington Village road. That’s 
smooth.” 

“Trust the boys for finding the most danger- 


THE SLIDE ON SNAKE HILL 


I2 3 

ous place,” Jennie Hapgood remarked. “I never 
saw their like.” 

“That’s because you -only have an older 
brother,” said Dorothy, wisely. “He was past 
his reckless age while you were still in pinafores 
and pigtails.” 

“Reckless age!” scoffed Tavia. “When does 
a boy or a man ever cease to be reckless?” 

“Right-oh!” agreed Nat, looking back along the 
tow-line of the sled. “See how he forever puts 
himself within the danger zone of pretty girls. 
Gee! but Ned and I are a reckless team! What 
say, Neddie?” 

“I say do your share of the pulling,” returned 
his brother. “Those girls are no feather-weights, 
and this is up hill.” 

“Oh, to be so insulted!” murmured Tavia. 
“To accuse us of bearing extra flesh about with us 
when we all follow Lovely Lucy Larriper’s direc¬ 
tions, given in the Evening Bazoo. Not a pound 
of the superfluous do we carry.” 

“Dorothy’s getting chunky,” announced Nat, 
wickedly. 

“You’re another!” cried Tavia, standing up for 
her chum. “Her lovely curves are to be praised— 
oh!” 

At that moment the young men ran the runners 
on one side of the sled over an ice-covered stump, 
and the girls all joined in Tavia’s scream. If there 


124 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 


had not been handholds they would all three have 
been ignominiously dumped off. 

“Pardon, ladies! Watch your step !” Ned said. 
“And don’t get us confused with your beauty-talks’ 
business. Besides, it isn’t really modest. I al¬ 
ways blush myself when I inadvertently turn over 
to the woman’s page of the evening paper. It is 
a delicate place for mere man to tread.’’ 

“Hoo-ray!” ejaculated his brother, making a 
false step himself just then. “Wish I had creep¬ 
ers on. This is a mighty delicate place for a fel¬ 
low to tread, too, my boy.” 

In fact, they soon had to order the girls off the 
sled. The way was becoming too steep and the 
side of the hill was just as slick as the highway 
had been. 

With much laughter and not a few terrified 
“squawks,” to quote Tavia, the girls scrambled 
up the slope after the boys and the sled. Sud¬ 
denly piercing screams came from above them. 

“Those rascals!” ejaculated Ned. 

“Oh! they are sliding on this side,” cried Doro¬ 
thy. “Stop them, Ned! Please, Nat!” 

“What do you expect us to do?” demanded the 
latter. “Run out and catch ’em with our bare 
hands?” 

They had come to a break in the path now and 
could see out over the sloping pasture in which 
the boys had been sliding for an hour. Their sled 


THE SLIDE ON SNAKE HILL 


125 


had worked a plain path down the hill; but at the 
foot of it was an abrupt drop over the side of a 
gully. Dorothy Dale—and her cousins, too— 
knew that gully very well. There was a cave in 
it, and in and about that cave they had once had 
some very exciting adventures. 

Joe and Roger had selected the smoothest part 
of the pasture to coast in, it was true; but the 
party of young folk just arrived could see that it 
was a very dangerous place as well. At the foot 
of the slide was a little bank overhanging the 
gully. The smaller boys had been stopping their 
sled right on the brink, and with a jolt, for the 
watchers could see Joe’s heelprints in the ground 
where the ice had been broken away. 

They could hear the boys screaming out a school 
song at the top of the hill. Ned and Nat roared 
a command to Joe and Roger to halt in their mad 
career; but the two smaller boys were making so 
much noise that it was evident their cousins’ shout 
was not heard by them. 

They came down, Joe sitting ahead on the sled 
with his brother hanging on behind, the feet of the 
boy sitting in front thrust out to halt the sled. 
But if the sled should jump over the barrier, the 
two reckless boys would fall twenty feet to the 
bottom of the gully. 

“Stop them, do!” groaned Jennie Hapgood, 
who was a timid girl. 


126 DOROTHY DALE'S ENGAGEMENT 


It was Dorothy who looked again at the little 
mound on the edge of gully’s bank. The frost 
had got into the earth there, for it had been freez¬ 
ing weather for several days before the ice storm 
of the previous night. Now the sun was shining 
full on the spot, and she could see where the boys’ 
feet, colliding with that lump of earth on the verge 
Of the declivity, had knocked off the ice and bared 
the earth completely. There was, too, a long 
crack along the edge of the slight precipice. 

“Oh, boys!” she called to Ned and Nat, who 
were struggling up the hill once more, “stop them, 
do! You must! That bank is crumbling away. 
If they come smashing down upon it again they 
may go over the brink, sled and all!” 


CHAPTER XVI 


THE FLY IN THE AMBER 

“Oh, Dorothy!” cried Tavia. 

Jennie, with a shudder, buried her face in her 
hands. 

Joe and Roger Dale were fairly flying down the 
hill, and would endeavor to stop by collision with 
the same lump of frozen earth that had previously 
been their bulwark. 

“See! Ned! Nat!” cried Dorothy again. “We 
must stop them!” 

But how stop the boys already rushing down 
hill on their coaster? It seemed an impossible 
feat. 

The White brothers dropped the towline of the 
big sled and scrambled along the slippery slope 
toward the edge of the gully. 

With a whoop of delight the two smaller boys, 
on their red coaster, whisked past the girls. 

“Stop them!” shrieked the three in chorus. 

Ned reached the edge of the gully bank first. 
His weight upon the cracking earth sent the slight 
barrier crashing over the brink. Just as they had 
supposed there was not a possible chance of Joe’s 
127 


128 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 


stopping the sled when it came down to this peril¬ 
ous spot. 

Tavia groaned and wrung her hands. Jennie 
burst out crying. Dorothy knew she could not 
help, yet she staggered after Ned and Nat, un¬ 
able to remain inactive like the other girls. 

Ned recovered himself from the slippery edge 
of the bank; but by a hair’s breadth only was he 
saved from being thrown to the bottom of the 
gully. He crossed the slide in a bound and 
whirled swiftly, gesturing to his brother to stay 
back. Nat understood and stopped abruptly. 

“You grab Roger—I’ll take Joe!” panted Ned. 

Just then the smaller boys on the sled rushed 
down upon them. Fortunately, the steeper part 
of the hill ended some rods back from the gully’s 
edge. But the momentum the coaster had gained 
brought it and its burden of surprised and yell¬ 
ing boys at a very swift pace, indeed, down to the 
point where Ned and Nat stood bracing them¬ 
selves upon the icy ground. 

“Oh, boys!” shrieked Tavia, without under¬ 
standing what Ned and Nat hoped to accomplish. 
“Do something!” 

And the very next instant they did! 

The coaster came shooting down to the verge 
of the gully bank. Joe Dale saw that the bank 
had given way and he could not stop the sled. 
Nor did he dare try to swerve it to one side. 


THE FLY IN THE AMBER 129 

Ned and Nat, staring at the imperilled coast¬ 
ers, saw the look of fear come into Joe’s face. 
Ned shouted: 

“Let go all holds! We’ll grab you! Quick!” 

Joe was a quick-minded boy after all. He was 
holding the steering lines. Roger was clinging to 
his shoulders. If Joe dropped the lines, both boys 
would be free of the sled. 

That is what he did. Ned swooped and 
grabbed Joe. Nat seized upon the shrieking and 
surprised Roger. The sled darted out from be¬ 
neath the two boys and shot over the verge of the 
bank, landing below in the gully with a crash 
among the icy branches of a tree. 

“Wha—what did you do that for?” Roger de¬ 
manded of Nat, as the latter set him firmly on his 
feet. 

“Just for instance, kid,” growled Nat. “We 
ought to have let you both go.” 

“And I guess we would if it hadn’t been for 
Dorothy,” added Ned, rising from where he had 
fallen with Joe on top of him. 

“Cracky!” gasped Joe. “We’d have gone 
straight over that bank that time, wouldn’t we? 
Gee, Roger! we’d have broken our necks!” 

Even Roger was impressed by this stated fact. 
“Oh, Dorothy!” he cried, “isn’t it lucky you hap¬ 
pened along, so’s to tell Ned and Nat what to do? 
I wouldn’t care to have a broken neck.” 


130 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 

“You are very right, kid,” growled Nat. “It’s 
Dorothy ‘as does it’—always. She is the observ¬ 
ant little lady who puts us wise to every danger. 
‘Who ran to catch me when I fell?’ My cousin!” 

“Hold your horses, son,” advised his brother, 
with seriousness. “It was Dorothy who smelled 
out the danger all right.” 

“I do delight in the metaphors you boys use,” 
broke in Dorothy. “I might be a beagle-hound, 
according to Ned. ‘Smelled out,’ indeed!” 

“Aren’t you horrid?” sighed Jennie, for they 
were all toiling up the hill again. 

Ned put the cup of his hand under Jennie’s 
elbow and helped her over a particularly glary 
spot. “Boys are very good folk,” he said, smiling 
down into her pretty face, “if you take them just 
right. But they are explosive, of course.” 

Nat, likewise helping to drag the big sled, was 
walking beside Tavia. Dorothy looked from one 
couple to the other, smiled, and then found that 
her eyes were misty. 

“Why!” she gasped under her breath, “I be¬ 
lieve I am getting to be a sour old maid. I am 
jealous!” 

She turned her attention to the smaller boys and 
they all went gaily up the hill. Nobody was going 
to discover that Dorothy Dale felt blue—not if 
she could possibly help it! 

Over on the other side of the hill where the 


THE FLY IN THE AMBER 131 

smooth road lay the party had a wonderfully in¬ 
vigorating coasting time. They all piled upon the 
double-ripper—Joe and Roger, too—and after 
the first two or three slides, the runners became 
freed of rust and the heavy sled fairly flew. 

“Oh! this is great—great!” cried Tavia. “It’s 
just like flying. I always did want to fly up into 
the blue empyrean-” 

They were then resting at the top of the hill. 
Nat turned over on his back upon the sled, 
struggled with all four limbs, and uttered a soul- 
searching: “Woof! woof! Ow-row-row! Woof!” 

“Get up, silly!” ordered Tavia. “Whenever I 
have any flight of fancy you always make it fall 
flat.” 

“And if you tried a literal flight into the empy¬ 
rean—ugh!—you’d fall flat without any help,” 
declared Nat. “But we don’t want you to fly 
away from us, Tavia. We couldn’t get along 
without you.” 

“ ‘Thank you, kindly, sir, she said,’ ” responded 
his gay little friend. 

However, Tavia and Nat could be serious on 
occasion. This very day as the party tramped 
home to luncheon, dragging the sleds, having re¬ 
covered the one from the gully, they walked apart, 
and Dorothy noted they were preoccupied. But 
then, so were Ned and Jennie. Dorothy’s eyes 
danced now. She had recovered her poise. 



132 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 


“It’s great fun,” she whispered to her aunt, 
when they were back in the house. ‘‘Watching 
people who are pairing off, I mean. I know ‘which 
is which’ all right now. And I guess you do, too, 
Aunt Winnie?” 

Mrs. White nodded and smiled. There was 
nothing to fear regarding this intimacy between 
her big sons and Dorothy’s pretty friends. In¬ 
deed, she could wish for no better thing to happen 
than that Ned and Nat should become interested 
in Tavia and Jennie. 

‘‘But you, my dear?” she asked Dorothy, slyly. 
“Hadn’t we better be finding somebody for you 
to walk and talk with?” 

“I must play chaperon,” declared Dorothy, 
gaily. “No, no! I am going to be an old maid, 
I tell you, Auntie dear.” And to herself she 
added: “But never a sour, disagreeable, jealous 
one! Never that!” 

Not that in secret Dorothy did not have many 
heavy thoughts when she remembered Garry 
Knapp or anything connected with him. 

“We must send those poor girls some Christ¬ 
mas remembrances,” Dorothy said to Tavia, and 
Tavia understood whom she meant without having 
it explained to her. 

“Of course we will,” she cried. “You would 
not let me give Forty-seven and her sister as much 
money as I wanted to for finding my bag.” 


THE FLY IN THE AMBER 


133 


“No. I don’t think it does any good to put a 
premium on honesty,” Dorothy said gravely. 

“Huh! that’s just what Garry Knapp said,” 
said Tavia, reflectively. 

“But now,” Dorothy hastened to add, “we can 
send them both at Christmas time something really 
worth while.” 

“Something warm to wear,” said Tavia, more 
than ordinarily thoughtful. “They have to go 
through the cold streets to work in all weathers.” 

It seemed odd, but Dorothy noticed that her 
chum remained rather serious all that day. In 
the evening Nat came in with the mail bag and 
dumped its contents on the hall table. This was 
just before dinner and usually the cry of “Mail!” 
up the stairway brought most of the family into 
the big entrance hall. 

Down tripped Tavia with the other girls; Ned 
lounged in from the library; Joe and Roger ap¬ 
peared, although they seldom had any letters, only 
funny postal cards from their old-time chums at 
Dalton and from local school friends. 

Mrs. White took her mail off to her own room. 
She walked without her crutch now, but favored 
the lame ankle. Joe seized upon his father’s mail 
and ran to find him. 

Nat sorted the letters out swiftly. Everybody 
had a few. Suddenly he hesitated as he picked 
up a rather coarse envelope on which Tavia’s 


134 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 


name was scrawled. In the upper left-hand cor¬ 
ner was written: “L. Petterby.” 

“Great Peter!” he gasped, shooting a question¬ 
ing glance at Tavia. “Does that cowpuncher write 
to you still?” 

Perhaps there was something like an accusa¬ 
tion in Nat’s tone. At least, it was not just the 
tone to take with such a high-spirited person as 
Tavia. Her head came up and her eyes flashed. 
She reached for the letter. 

“Isn’t that nice!” she cried. “Another from 
dear old Lance. He’s such a desperately deter¬ 
mined chap.” 

At first the other young folk had not noted 
Nat’s tone or Tavia’s look. But the young man’s 
next query all understood: 

“Still at it, are you, Tavia? Can’t possibly 
keep from stringing ’em along? It’s meat and 
drink to you, isn’t it?” 

“Why, of course,” drawled Tavia, two red 
spots in her cheeks. 

She walked away, slitting Lance Petterby’s en¬ 
velope as she went. Nat’s brow was clouded, and 
all through dinner he said very little. Tavia 
seemed livelier and more social than ever, but 
Dorothy apprehended “the fly in the amber.” 


CHAPTER XVII 


“do you understand tavia?” 

“You got this old timer running round in cir¬ 
cles, Miss Tavia, when you ask about a feller 
named Garford Knapp anywhere in this latitude, 
and working for a feller named Bob. There’s 
more ‘Bobs’ running ranches out here than there 
is bobwhites down there East where you live. Too 
bad you can’t remember this here Bob’s last name, 
or his brand. 

“Now, come to think, there was a feller named 
‘Dimples’ Knapp used to be found in Desert City, 
but not in Hardin. And you ought to see Hardin 
—it’s growing some !’’ 

This was a part of what was in Lance Petter- 
by’s letter. Had Nat White been allowed to read 
it he would have learned something else—some¬ 
thing that not only would have surprised him and 
his brother and cousin, but would have served to 
burn away at once the debris of trouble that 
seemed suddenly heaped between Tavia and him¬ 
self. 

It was true that Tavia had kept up her corre- 
135 


136 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 

spondence with the good-natured and good-look¬ 
ing cowboy in whom, while she was West, she had 
become interested, and that against the advice of 
Dorothy Dale. She did this for a reason deeper 
than mere mischief. 

Lance Petterby had confided in her more than 
in any of the other Easterners of the party that 
had come to the big Hardin ranch. Lance was in 
love with a school teacher of the district while the 
party from the East was at Hardin; and now he 
had been some months married to the woman of 
his choice. 

When Tavia read bits of his letters, even to 
Dorothy, she skipped all mention of Lance’s ro¬ 
mance and his marriage. This she did, it is true, 
because of a mischievous desire to plague her chum 
and Ned and Nat. Of late, since affairs had be¬ 
come truly serious between Nat and herself, she 
would have at any time explained the joke to Nat 
had she thought of it, or had he asked her about 
Lance. 

The very evening previous to the arrival of this 
letter from the cowpuncher to which Nat had so 
unwisely objected, Nat and Tavia had gone for 
a walk together in the crisp December moonlight 
and had talked very seriously. 

Nat, although as full of fun as Tavia herself, 
could be grave; and he made his intention and his 
desires very plain to the girl. Tavia would not 


DO YOU UNDERSTAND TAVIA ?” 137 


show him all that was in her heart. That was not 
her way. She was always inclined to hide her 
deeper feelings beneath a light manner and light 
words. But she was brave and she was honest. 
When he pinned her right down to the question, 
yes or no, Tavia looked courageously into Nat’s 
eyes and said: 

"Yes, Nat. I do. But somebody besides you 
must ask me before I will agree to—to ‘make you 
happy’ as you call it.” 

“For the good land’s sake!” gasped Nat. 
“Who’s business is it but ours? If you love me 
as I love you-” 

“Yes, I know,” interrupted Tavia, with laugh¬ 
ter breaking forth. “ ‘No knife can cut our love 
in two.’ But, dear -” 

“Oh, Tavia 1” 

“Wait, honey,” she whispered, with her face 
close pressed against his shoulder. “No! don’t 
kiss me now. You’ve kissed me before—in fun. 
The next time you kiss me it must be in solemn 
earnest.” 

“By heaven, girl!” exclaimed Nat, hoarsely. 
“Do you think I am fooling now?” 

“No, boy,” she whispered, looking up at him 
again suddenly. “But somebody else must ask 
me before I have a right to promise what you 
want.” 

“Who?” demanded Nat, in alarm. 




138 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 


“You know that I am a poor girl. Not only 
that, but I do not come from the same stock that 
you do. There is no blue blood in my veins,” 
and she uttered a little laugh that might have 
sounded bitter had there not been the tremor of 
tears in it. 

“What nonsense, Tavia !” the young man cried, 
shaking her gently by the shoulders. 

“Oh no, Nat! Wait! I am a poor girl and I 
come of very, very common stock. I don’t mean 
I am ashamed of my poverty, or of the fact that 
my father and mother both sprang from the labor¬ 
ing class. 

“But you might be expected when you marry 
to take for a wife a girl from a family whose 
forebears were something. Mine were not. 
Why, one of my grandfathers was an immigrant 
and dug ditches-” 

“Pshaw! I had a relative who dug a ditch, too. 
In Revolutionary times-” 

“That is it exactly,” Tavia hastened to say. 
“I know about him. He helped dig the breast¬ 
works on Breeds Hill and was wounded in the 
Battle of Bunker Hill. I know all about that. 
Your people were Pilgrim and Dutch stock.” 

“Immigrants, too,” said Nat, muttering. “And 
maybe some of them left their country across the 
seas for their country’s good.” 

“It doesn’t matter,” said the shrewd Tavia. 




“DO YOU UNDERSTAND TAVIA?” 139 

Being an immigrant in America in sixteen hun¬ 
dred is one thing. Being an immigrant in the lat¬ 
ter end of the nineteenth century is an entirely 
different pair of boots.” 

“Oh, Tavia!” 

“No. Your mother has been as kind to me— 
and for years and years—as though I were her 
niece, too, instead of just one of Dorothy’s friends. 
She may have other plans for her sons, Nat.” 

“Nonsense!” 

“I will not answer you,” the girl cried, a little 
wildly now, and began to sob. “Oh, Nat! Nat! 
I have thought of this so much. Your mother 
must ask me, or I can never tell you what I want 
to tell you!” 

Nat respected her desire and did not kiss her 
although she clung, sobbing, to him for some mo¬ 
ments. But after she had wiped away her tears 
and had begun to joke again in her usual way, they 
went back to the house. 

And Nat White knew he was walking on air! 
He could not feel the path beneath his feet. 

He was obliged to go to town early the next 
morning, and when he returned, as we have seen, 
just before dinner, he brought the mail bag up 
from the North Birchland post-office. 

He could not understand Tavia’s attitude re¬ 
garding Lance Petterby’s letter, and he was both 
hurt and jealous. Actually he was jealous! 


i 4 o DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 


“Do you understand Tavia?” he asked his 
cousin Dorothy, right after dinner. 

“My dear boy,” Dorothy Dale said, “I never 
claimed to be a seer. Who understands Tavia— 
fully?” 

“But you know her better than anybody else.” 

“Better than Tavia knows herself, perhaps,” 
admitted Dorothy. 

“Well, see here! I’ve asked her to marry 


“Oh, Nat! my dear boy! I am so glad!” Doro¬ 
thy cried, and she kissed her cousin warmly. 

“Don’t be so hasty with your congratulations,” 
growled Nat, still red and fuming. “She didn’t 
tell me ‘yes.’ I don’t know now that I want her 
to. I want to know what she means, getting let¬ 
ters from that fellow out West.” 

“Oh, Nat!” sighed Dorothy, looking at him 
levelly. “Are you sure you love her?” 

He said nothing more, and Dorothy did not 
add a word. But Tavia waited in vain that even¬ 
ing for Mrs. White to come to her and ask the 
question which she had told Nat his mother must 
ask for him. 



CHAPTER XVIII 


CROSS PURPOSES 

Tavia was as loyal a girl as ever stepped in 
shoe-leather. That was an oft-repeated expres¬ 
sion of Major Dale’s. He loved “the flyaway” 
for this very attribute. 

Tavia was now attempting to bring joy and 
happiness for Dorothy out of chaos. Therefore, 
she felt she dared take nobody into her confidence 
regarding Lance Petterby’s letter. 

She replied to Lance at once, explaining more 
fully about Garry Knapp, the land he was about 
to sell, and the fact that Eastern schemers were 
trying to obtain possession of Knapp’s ranch for 
wheat land and at a price far below its real worth. 

Satisfaction, Tavia might feel in this attempt to 
help Dorothy; but everything else in the world 
was colored blue—very blue, indeed! 

When one’s ear has become used to the clatter 
of a noisy little windmill, for instance, and the 
wind suddenly ceases and it remains calm, the ces¬ 
sation of the mill’s clatter is almost a shock to the 
nerves. 

This was about the way Tavia’s sudden shift of 
141 



142 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 

manner struck all those observant ones at The 
Cedars. As the season of joy and gladness and 
good-will approached, Tavia Travers sank lower 
and lower into a Slough of Despond. 

Had it not been for Dorothy Dale, the others 
must have audibly remarked Tavia’s lack of 
sparkle. Though Dorothy did not imagine that 
Tavia was engaged in any attempt to help her, 
and because of that attempt had refused to ex¬ 
plain Lance Petterby’s letter to Nat White, yet 
she loyally began to act as a buffer between the 
others and the contrary Tavia. More than once 
did Dorothy fly to Tavia’s rescue when she seemed 
to be in difficulties. 

Tavia had a streak of secrecy in her character 
that sometimes placed her in a bad light when 
judged by unknowing people. Dorothy, however, 
felt sure that on this present occasion there was 
no real fault to be found with her dear friend. 

Nat refused to speak further about his feeling 
toward Tavia; Dorothy knew better than to try 
to tempt Tavia herself to explain. The out¬ 
standing difficulty was the letter from the West¬ 
erner. Feeling sure, as she did, that Tavia liked 
Nat immensely and really cared nothing for any 
other man, Dorothy refrained from hinting at the 
difficulty to her chum. Let matters take their 
course. That was the better way, Dorothy be¬ 
lieved. She felt that Nat’s deeper affections had 


CROSS PURPOSES 


143 


been moved and that only the surface of his pride 
and jealousy were nicked. On the other hand she 
knew Tavia to be a most loyal soul, and she could 
not imagine that there was really any cause, other 
than mischief, for Tavia to allow that letter to 
stand between Nat and herself. 

To smooth over the rough edges and hide any 
unpleasantness from the observation of the older 
members of the family, Dorothy became very ac¬ 
tive in the social life of The Cedars again. No 
longer did she refuse to attend the cousins and 
Jennie and Tavia in any venture. It was a quin¬ 
tette of apparently merry young people once 
more; never a quartette. Nor were Nat and 
Tavia seen alone together during those few short 
weeks preceding Christmas. 

Secretly, Dorothy was very unhappy over the 
misunderstanding between her chum and Nat. 
That it was merely a disagreement and would not 
cause a permanent break between the two was her 
dear hope. For she wished to see them both 
happy. Although at one time she thought the 
steadier Ned, the older cousin, might be a better 
mate for her flyaway friend, she had come to see 
it differently of late. If anybody could under¬ 
stand and properly appreciate Tavia Travers it 
was Nathaniel White. His mind, too, was quick, 
his imagination colorful. Dorothy Dale, with 
growing understanding of character and the men- 


i 4 4 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 


tal equipment to judge her associates better than 
most girls, or young women, of her age, believed 
in her heart that neither Tavia nor Nat would ever 
get along with any other companion as well as the 
two could get along together. 

The two “wildfires,” as Aunt Winnie sometimes 
called them, had always had occasional bickerings. 
But a dispute is like a thunderstorm—it usually 
clears the air. 

Nor did Dorothy doubt for a moment that her 
cousin and her friend were deeply in love now, the 
one with the other. That Tavia had turned with¬ 
out explanation about Lance Petterby’s letter from 
Nat and that the latter had told Dorothy he was 
not sure he wished Tavia to answer the important 
question he had put to her, sprang only from 
pique on Nat’s side, and, Dorothy was sure, from 
something much the same in her chum’s heart. 

Light-minded and frivolous as Tavia had al¬ 
ways appeared, Dorothy knew well that the un¬ 
dercurrent of her chum’s feelings was both deep 
and strong. Where she gave affection Tavia her¬ 
self would have said she “loved hard!” 

Dorothy had watched, during these past few 
weeks especially, the intimacy grow between her 
chum and Nat White. They were bound to each 
other, Dorothy believed, by many ties. Disagree¬ 
ments did not count. All that was on the surface. 
Underneath, the tide of their feelings intermingled 


CROSS PURPOSES 


J 45 


and flowed together. She could not believe that 
any little misunderstanding could permanently di¬ 
vide Tavia and Nat. 

But they were at cross purposes—that was 
plain. Nat was irritated and Tavia was proud. 
Dorothy knew that her chum was just the sort of 
person to be hurt most by being doubted. 

Nat should have understood that if Tavia had 
given him reason to believe she cared for him, her 
nature was so loyal that in no particular could she 
be unfaithful to the trust he placed in her. His 
quick appearance of doubt when he saw the letter 
from the West had hurt Tavia cruelly. 

Yet, Dorothy Dale did not try to make peace 
between the two by going to Nat and putting these 
facts before him in the strong light of good sense. 
She was quite sure that if she did so Nat would 
come to terms and beg Tavia’s pardon. That was 
Nat’s way. He never took a middle course. He 
must be either at one extreme of the pendulum’s 
swing or the other. 

And Dorothy was sure that it would not be 
well, either for Nat or for Tavia, for the former 
to give in without question and shoulder the en¬ 
tire responsibility for this lover’s quarrel. For 
to Dorothy Dale’s mind there was a greater shade 
of fault upon her chum’s side of fche controversy 
than there was on Nat’s. Because of the very 
fact that all her life Tavia had beea flirting or 


146 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 


making believe to flirt, there was some reason for 
Nat’s show of spleen over the Petterby letter. 

Dorothy did not know what had passed between 
Tavia and Nat the evening before the arrival of 
the letter. She did not know what Tavia had 
demanded of Nat before she would give him the 
answer he craved. 

Nat kept silence. Mrs. White did not come to 
.Tavia and ask the question which meant so much 
to the warm-hearted girl. Tavia suffered in every 
fiber of her being, but would not betray her feel¬ 
ings. And Dorothy waited her chance to say 
something to her chum that might help to clear 
up the unfortunate state of affairs. 

So all were at cross purposes, and gradually 
the good times at The Cedars became something 
of a mockery. 


\ 


CHAPTER XIX 


WEDDING BELLS IN PROSPECT 

Four days before Christmas Dorothy Dale, 
her cousins, and Tavia all boarded the train with 
Jennie Hapgood, bound for the latter’s home in 
Pennsylvania. On Christmas Eve Jennie’s brother 
Jack was to be married, and he had written jointly 
with the young lady who was to be “Mrs. Jack” 
after that date, that the ceremony could not pos¬ 
sibly take place unless the North Birchland crowd 
of young folk crossed the better part of two 
states, to be “in at the finish.” 

“Goodness me,” drawled Tavia, when this let¬ 
ter had come from Sunnyside Farm. “He talks 
as though wedded bliss were something like a 
sentence to the penitentiary. How horrid!” 

“It is. For a lot of us men,” Nat said, grin¬ 
ning. “No more stag parties with the fellows for 
one thing. Cut out half the time one might spend 
at the club. And then, there is the pocket peril.” 

“The—the what?” demanded Jennie. “What 
under the sun is that?” 

“A new one on me,” said Ned. “Out with it. 
’Thaniel. What is the ‘pocket peril’ ?” 

147 


i 4 8 DOROTHY DALE'S ENGAGEMENT 


“Why, after a fellow is married they tell me 
that he never knows when he puts his hand in his 
pocket whether he will find money there or not. 
Maybe Friend Wife has beaten him to it.” 

“For shame!” cried Dorothy. “You certainly 
deserve never to know what Tavia calls ‘wedded 
bliss.’ ” 

“I have m y doubts as to my ever doing so,” 
muttered Nat, his face suddenly expressing gloom; 
and he marched away. 

Jennie and Ned did not observe this. Indeed, 
it was becoming so with them that they saw no¬ 
body but each other. Their infatuation was so 
plain that sometimes it was really funny. Yet 
even Tavia, with her sharp tongue, spared the 
happy couple any gibes. Sometimes when she 
looked at them her eyes were bright with moisture. 
Dorothy saw this, if nobody else did. 

However, the trip to western Pennsylvania was 
very pleasant, indeed. Dorothy posed as chap¬ 
eron, and the boys voted that she made an ex¬ 
cellent one. 

The party got off gaily; but after a while Ned 
and Jennie slipped away to the observation plat¬ 
form, cold as the weather was, and Nat plainly 
felt ill at ease with his cousin and Tavia. He 
grumbled something about Ned having become 
“an old poke,” and sauntered into another car, 
leaving Tavia alone with Dorothy Dale in their 


WEDDING BELLS IN PROSPECT 149 


compartment. Almost at once Dorothy said to 
her chum: 

“Tavia, dear, are you going to let this thing go 
on, and become worse and worse?” 

“What’s that?” demanded Tavia, a little tartly. 

“This misunderstanding between you and Nat? 
Aren’t you risking your own happiness as well as 
his?” 

“Dorothy-” 

“Don’t be angry, dear,” her chum (hastened to 
say. “Please don’t. I hate to see both you and 
Nat in such a false position.” 

“How false?” demanded Tavia. 

“Because you are neither of you satisfied with 
yourselves. You are both wrong, perhaps; but 
I think that under the circumstances you, dear, 
should put forth the first effort for reconciliation.” 

“With Nat?” gasped Tavia. 

“Yes.” 

“Not to save my life!” cried her friend. 
“Never!” 

“Oh, Tavia!” 

“You take his side because of that letter,” 
Tavia said accusingly. “Well, if that’s the idea, 
here’s another letter from Lance !” and she opened 
her bag and produced an envelope on which ap¬ 
peared the cowboy’s scrawling handwriting. Doro¬ 
thy knew it well. 

“Oh, Tavia!” 



150 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 

“Don’t ‘Oh, Tavia’ me!” exclaimed the other 
girl, her eyes bright with anger. “Nobody has 
a right to choose my correspondents for me.” 

“You know that all the matter is with Nat, he 
is jealous,” Dorothy said frankly. 

“What right has he to be?” demanded Tavia 
in a hard voice, but looking away quickly. 

“Dear,” said Dorothy softly, laying her hand 
on Tavia’s arm, “he told me he—he asked you 
to marry him.” 

“He never!” 

“But you knew that was what he meant,” Doro¬ 
thy said shrewdly. 

Tavia was silent, and her friend went on to 
say: 

“You know he thinks the world of you, dear. 
If he didn’t he would not have been angered. And 
I do think—considering everything—that you 
ought not to continue to let that fellow out West 
write to you-” 

Tavia turned on her with hard, flashing eyes. 
She held out the letter, saying in a voice quite 
different from her usual tone: 

“I want you to read this letter—but only on 
condition that you say nothing to Nat White about 
it, not a word! Do you understand, Dorothy 
Dale?” 

“No,” said Dorothy, wondering. “I do not 
understand.” 



WEDDING BELLS IN PROSPECT 151 


“You understand that I am binding you to 
secrecy, at least,’’ Tavia continued in the same 
tone. 

“Why—yes— that” admitted her friend. 

“Very well, then, read it,” said Tavia and 
turned to look out of the window while Dorothy 
withdrew the closely written, penciled pages from 
the envelope and unfolded them. 

In a moment Dorothy cried aloud: 

“Oh, Tavia ! you wrote him about Mr. Knapp!” 

“Yes,” said Tavia. 

“Oh, my dear! is that why he wrote you the 
other time? Of course! And he says he can’t find 
him. Dimples Knapp he calls him. Oh, my 
dear!” 

“Well,” said Tavia, in the same gruff voice. 
“Read on.” She did not turn from the window. 

“Oh, Tavia!” Dorothy said in a moment or 
two. “Those men are out there buying up wheat 
lands—Stiffbold and Lightly. Lance says he has 
met them.” 

“I am afraid your friend, ‘Garry Owen,’ will be 
beat,” said Tavia, shrugging her shoulders. “Do 
you see what Lance says next?” 

“He thinks he may get word of this Knapp he 
knows in a few days. Thinks he may be working 
for a man named Robert Douglas. Oh, Tavia! 
Of course he is! That is the name of his em¬ 
ployer!” 


152 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 

But Tavia displayed very little interest. “I had 
forgotten,” she said. 

“Bob Douglas! Of course you remember! 
And Lance says he’ll get word to him and tip 
him off, as he calls it, about the land-sharks. Oh, 
Tavia!” 

Her friend still looked out of the window. 
Dorothy shook her by the elbow, staring at the 
written lines of Lance Petterby’s letter. 

“What does this mean?” she demanded. 
“ ‘Sue sends her best, and so does Ma.’ Who is 
Sue?” 

“Why, that is Mrs. Petterby, the younger,” 
drawled Tavia, flashing a glance at Dorothy. 

“Married?” gasped Dorothy. 

“According to law,” responded Tavia, sol¬ 
emnly. “And worse. Read on.” 

Breathlessly, Dorothy Dale consumed the re¬ 
mainder of the letter. Some of it she murmured 
aloud: 

“ ‘The kid is a wonder. You’d ought to see 
her. Two weeks old to-day and I bet she could 
sit a bucking pony. You’re elected godmother, 
Miss Tavia, because she is going to be called ‘Oc- 
tavia Susan Petterby,’ believe me!” 

“Oh, Tavia!” finished Dorothy, crumpling the 
letter in her hand. “And you never told us a word 
about it. That*s why you wanted to buy a silver 
mug!” 


WEDDING BELLS IN PROSPECT 153 


“Yes,” Tavia admitted. 

“And they have been married how long?” 

“Almost a year. Soon after we came away 
from Hardin.” 

“And you never said a word,” Dorothy said 
accusingly. “We all supposed-” 

“That I was flirting with poor old Lance. 
Yes,” said Tavia, her eyes and voice both hard. 

“And why shouldn’t we think so?” asked Doro¬ 
thy, quietly. “You do so many queer things. Or 
you used to.” 

“I don’t now,” said her friend, bruskly. 

“No. But how were we to know? How was 
Nat to know?” she added. 

Then Tavia turned on her with excitement. 
“You promised not to tell!” she said. “Don’t you 
dare let Nat White know about this letter!” 



CHAPTER XX 


A GIRL OF TO-DAY 

“It was the prettiest wedding I ever saw,” 
Dorothy Dale declared, as the party, bound for 
North Birchland again, climbed aboard the mid¬ 
night train at the station nearest Sunnyside Farm. 

“And the bride was too sweet for anything,” 
added Jennie Hapgood, who was returning to The 
Cedars as agreed, to remain until after New 
Year’s. 

“Jack looked quite as they always do,” said 
Ned in a hollow voice. 

“As who always do?” demanded Tavia. 

“The brooms.” 

“ ‘Brooms’!” cried Dorothy. “Grooms, Ned?” 

“He’s a ‘new broom’ all right,” chuckled Ed¬ 
ward White. “Poor chap! he doesn’t know what 
it means to love, honor, obey, and buy frocks and 
hats for a girl of to-day.” 

“Pah!” retorted his brother, “you’d like to be 
in his shoes, Nedward.” 

“Me? I—guess—not!” declared Edward. 
“I have my own shoes to stand in, thank you,” 
154 


A GIRL OF TO-DAY 


155 

and Ned looked at Jennie Hapgood with a mean¬ 
ing air. 

So the party came back to The Cedars in much 
the same state as it had gone to the wedding. Ned 
and Jennie were so much taken up with each other 
that they were frankly oblivious to the mutual at¬ 
titude of Nat and Tavia. Dorothy Dale was kept 
busy warding off happenings that might attract the 
particular attention of Major Dale and Aunt Win¬ 
nie to the real situation between the two. 

Besides, Dorothy had ‘‘troubles of her own,’* 
as the saying goes. She felt that she must decide, 
and neglect the decision no longer, a very, very 
important matter that concerned herself more than 
it did anybody else in the world—a matter that 
she was selfishly interested in. 

Ample time had passed now for Dorothy Dale 
to consider from all standpoints this really won¬ 
derful thing that had come into her life and had 
so changed her outlook. On the surface she might 
seem the same Dorothy Dale to her friends and 
relatives; but secretly the whole world was differ¬ 
ent to her since that shopping trip she and Tavia 
had taken to New York wherein she and her 
chum had met Garry Knapp. 

A thousand times Dorothy had called up the 
details of every incident of the adventure—this 
greatest of all adventures Dorothy Dale had 
ever entered upon. 


156 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 


She felt that she should never meet again a man 
like Garry Knapp. None of the boys she had 
known before had ever made much of an im¬ 
pression on Dorothy Dale’s well-balanced mind. 
But from the beginning she had looked upon the 
young Westerner with a new vision. His reflec¬ 
tion filled the mirror of her thought as splendidly 
as at first. The dimple that showed faintly in one 
bronzed cheek, his rather large but well-formed 
features, his mop of black hair, his broad shoul¬ 
ders and well-set-up body—all these personal at¬ 
tributes belonging to Garry Knapp were as clearly 
fixed in Dorothy’s mind now as at first. 

So, too, her memory of all that had happened 
was clear. Garry’s proffered help in the depart¬ 
ment store when Tavia was in trouble first aroused 
Dorothy to an appreciation of his unstudied kind¬ 
ness. It was the most natural thing in the world 
for him to offer aid when he saw anybody in 
trouble. 

Dorothy blushed now whenever she thought of 
her doubts of Garry Knapp when she had seen 
him so easily fall into conversation with the de¬ 
partment store salesgirl on th?. street. Why! that 
was exactly what he would do—especially if the 
girl asked him for help. She still blushed at the 
remembrance of the jealous feeling that had 
prompted her avoidance of the young man until 
his action was explained. Her pique had short- 


A GIRL OF TO-DAY 


*57 

ened her acquaintanceship with Garry Knapp. 
She might have known him far better had it not 
been for that incident of the shopgirl. 

“And my own suspicion was the cause of it. I 
refused to meet Garry Knapp as Tavia did. Why! 
she knows him better than I do,” Dorothy Dale 
told herself. 

It was after her discovery of why Tavia had 
been writing to Lance Petterby and receiving an¬ 
swers from that “happy tho’ married cowboy per¬ 
son,” to quote Tavia, that Dorothy so searched 
her own heart regarding Garry Knapp. 

“You are a dear, loyal friend, Tavia,” she told 
her chum. “But—but why are you trying so to 
get in touch with Mr. Knapp?” 

“Really want me to tell you ?” demanded Tavia. 

“Yes.” 

“T ruly-rooly—black-and-bluely ?” 

“Of course, dear.” 

“Because I have been a regular ivory-kopf!” 
cried Tavia. “Forgive my hybrid German. Oh, 
Dorothy! I didn’t want to tell you, for I hoped 
Lance might quickly find your Garry Knapp.” 

“My Garry Knapp,” said Dorothy, blushing. 

“Yes, my dear. Don’t dodge the fact. We all 
seem to be suddenly grown up. We are shucking 
our shells of maidenhood like crabs-” 

“Tavia! Horrors! Don’t!” begged Dorothy. 

“Don’t like my metaphor, dear?” chuckled 



158 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 


Tavia. But she was grim again in a moment, con¬ 
tinuing: “No use dodging the fact, I repeat. You 
were interested in that man from the beginning. 
Now, weren’t you?” 

“Ye—es, Tavia,” admitted her friend. 

“And I should have seen that you were. I 
ought to have known, when you were put out with 
him because of that shopgirl, that for that very 
reason you were more interested in Garry Knapp 
than in any other fellow who ever shined up to 


“Tavia! How can you?” 

“Huh! Just as e-asy,” responded her friend, 
with a wicked twinkle in her eye and mimicking 
Garry Knapp’s manner of speaking. “Now, lis¬ 
ten!” she hurried on. “That night I took dinner 
with him alone—the evening you had the—er— 
headache and went to bed. ’Member?” 

“Oh, yes,” sighed Dorothy, nodding. 

“He just pumped me about you,” said Tavia. 
“And I was just foolish enough to tell him all 
about your money—how rich your folks were and 
all that.” 

“Oh!” and Dorothy flushed again. 

“You don’t get it—not yet,” said Tavia, wag¬ 
ging her head. “Afterwards I remembered how 
funny he looked when I had told him that you 
were a regular ‘sure-enough’ heiress, and I re¬ 
membered some things he said, too.” 



A GIRL OF TO-DAY 


i59 


“What do you mean?” asked Dorothy, faintly. 

“Why, I scared him away from you,” blurted 
out Tavia, almost in tears when she thought of 
what she called her “ivory-headedness.” “I know 
that he was just as deeply smitten with you, dear, 
as—as—well, as ever a man could be! But he’s 
poor—and he’s game. I think that is why he went 
off in such a hurry and without trying very hard 
to see you again.” 

“Oh, Tavia! Do you believe that is so?” and 
the joy in Dorothy’s voice could not be mistaken. 

“Well!” exclaimed Tavia, “isn’t that pretty 
bad? You act as though you were pleased.” 

Dorothy blushed again, but she was brave. She 
gazed straight into Tavia’s eyes as she said: 

“I am pleased, dear. I am pleased to learn that 
possibly it was not his lack of interest in poor 
little me that sent him away from New York so 
hastily—at least, without making a more desper¬ 
ate effort to see me.” 

“Oh, Doro !” cried Tavia, suddenly putting both 
arms around her friend. “Do you actually mean 
it?” 

“Mean what?” 

“That you 1-1 -like him so much?” 

Dorothy laughed aloud, but nodded emphatic¬ 
ally. “I 1-1 4ike him just as much as that,” she 
mocked. “And if it’s only my father’s money in 
the way-” 



160 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 


“And your own. You really will be rich when 
you are twenty-one,” Tavia reminded her. “I 
tell you, that young man was troubled a heap when 
he learned from me that you were so well off. If 
you had been a poor girl—if you had been me, 
for instance—he would never have left New York 
City without knowing his fate. I could see it in 
his eyes.” 

“Oh, Tavia!” gasped Dorothy, with clasped 
hands and shining eyes. 

“My dear,” said her friend, with serious mouth 
but dancing orbs. “I never would have thought 
it possible—of you. ‘Love like a lightning bolt’— 
just like that. And the cautious Dorothy!” Then 
she went on: “But, Dorothy, how will you ever 
find him?” 

“You have done your best, Tavia,” her friend 
said, nodding. “I suppose I might have tried 
Lance Petterby, too. But now I shall put Aunt 
Winnie’s lawyers to work out there. If possible, 
Mr. Knapp must be found before those real estate 
sharks buy his land. But if the transaction is com¬ 
pleted, we shall have to reach him in some other 
way.” 

“Dorothy! You sound woefully strong-minded. 
Do you mean to go right after the young man— 
just as though it were leap year?” and Tavia gig¬ 
gled. 

“I hope,” said Dorothy Dale, girl of to-day that 


A GIRL OF TO-DAY 


161 


she was, “I have too much good sense to lose the 
chance of showing the man I love that he can 
win me, because of any foolish or old-fashioned 
ideas of conventionalities. If Garry Knapp thinks 
as much of me as I do of him, his lack of an equal 
fortune sha’n’t stand in the way, either.” 

“Oh, Doro! it sounds awful—but bully!” 
Tavia declared, her eyes round. “Do you mean 
it?” 

“Yes,” said Dorothy, courageously. 

“But suppose he is one of those stubborn beings 
you read about—one of the men who will not 
marry a girl with money unless he has a ‘working 
capital’ himself?” 

“That shall not stand in our way.” 

“What do you mean?” gasped Tavia. “Not 
that you would give up your money for him?” 

“If I find I love him enough—yes,” said Doro¬ 
thy, softly. 


CHAPTER XXI 


THE BUD UNFOLDS 

In a certain way it ages a girl to be left mother¬ 
less as Dorothy Dale had been. She had been 
obliged to “play mother” herself so early that 
her maternal instincts were strongly and early de¬ 
veloped. 

Until the Dale family had come away from 
Dalton to live with Aunt Winnie at The Cedars, 
Dorothy had exercised her motherly oversight 
in the little family. Indeed, Roger scarcely knew 
any other mother than Dorothy, and Joe had al¬ 
most forgotten her who had passed away soon 
after Roger was born. 

As for the major, he had soon given all domes¬ 
tic matters over into the small but capable hands 
of “the little captain” while they were still strug¬ 
gling in poverty. After coming to The Cedars, 
Dorothy, of course, had been relieved of the close 
oversight of domestic and family matters that had 
previously been her portion. But its effect upon her 
character was plain to all observing eyes. Nor had 
her so early developed maternal characteristics 
failed to affect the other members of the family. 

162 


THE BUD UNFOLDS 


163 


Now that she was really grown up past the 
schoolgirl age and of a serious and thoughtful 
demeanor, even Aunt Winnie looked upon her as 
being much older than Tavia—and years older 
than the boys. That Ned and Nat were both sev¬ 
eral years Dorothy’s senior made no difference. 

“Boys are to a degree irresponsible—and al¬ 
ways are, no matter how old they become,” said 
Aunt Winnie. “But Dorothy - ” 

Her emphasis was approved by the major. 
“The little captain is some girl,” he said, chuck¬ 
ling. “Beg pardon! woman grown, eh, Sister?” 

Nor was his approval merely of Dorothy’s sur¬ 
face qualities. He knew that his pretty daughter 
was a much deeper thinker than most girls of her 
age, and he had seldom interfered in any way 
with Dorothy’s personal decisions on any sub¬ 
ject. 

“Let her find out for herself. She won’t go far 
wrong,” had often been his remark at first when 
his sister had worried over Dorothy in her school 
days. And so the girl developed into something 
that not all girls are—an original thinker. 

Knowing her as the major did and trusting in 
her good sense so fully, he was less startled, per¬ 
haps, than he would otherwise have been when 
Dorothy took him into her confidence regarding 
Garry Knapp. Tavia had refrained from jok¬ 
ing about the Westerner from the first. Little 



164 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 

had been said before the family about their ad¬ 
ventures in New York. Therefore, the major was 
not prepared in the least for the introduction of 
the subject. 

Perhaps it would not have been introduced in 
quite the way it was had it not grown out of an¬ 
other matter. It came the day after Christmas— 
that day in which everybody is tired and rather 
depressed because of the over-exertion of cele¬ 
brating the feast of good Kris Kringle. Dorothy 
was busy at the sewing basket beside her father’s 
comfortable chair. She knew that Tavia was writ¬ 
ing letters and just at this moment Major Dale 
dropped his paper to peer out of the window. 

“There goes Nat—off for a tramp, I’ll be 
bound. And he’s alone,” the major said. 

“Yes,” agreed Dorothy without looking up. 

“And Ned and that Jennie girl are in the li¬ 
brary, and you’re here,” pursued the major, with 
raised eyebrows. “Where is Tavia?” 

She told him; but she refrained again from 
looking up, and he finally bent forward in his chair 
and thrust a forefinger under her chin, raising it 
and making her look at him. 

“Say! what is the matter with Tavia and Nat?” 
he asked. 

“Are you sure there is anything the matter, 
Major?” Dorothy responded. 

“Can’t fool me. They’re at outs. And you, 


THE BUD UNFOLDS 165 

Captain? Is that what makes you so grave, my 
dear?” 

“No, Daddy,” she said, putting down her work 
and looking into his rugged face this time of her 
own volition. 

“Something personal, my dear?” 

“Very personal, Daddy,” calling him by the in¬ 
timate name the children used. “I—I think I— 
I am in love.” 

He neither made a joke of it nor appeared as¬ 
tonished. He just eyed her quietly and nodded. 
The flush mounted into her face and she glowed 
like a red rose. After all, it is not the easiest 
thing in the world to turn the heart out for oth¬ 
ers to look at, even the dearest of others. 

“I think I am in love. And the young man is 
poor—and—and I am afraid our money is going 
to stand between him and me.” 

“My dear Dorothy,” said the major, “are you 
really in love with somebody, or in love with 
love?” 

“I know what you mean,” his daughter said, 
with a tremulous little laugh and shaking her head. 
“Seeing so many about us falling into the toils of 
Dan Cupid, you think I perhaps imagine I have 
fixed my affections upon some particular object. 
Is that it, Major?” 

He nodded, a quizzical little smile on his lips. 

“No ” Hie said. “It isn’t anywhere as near as 


166 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 


simple as that. I—I do love him I believe. He 
is the only man I have ever really thought twice 
about. He is the center of all my thoughts now, 
and has been for a long time.” 

“But—but who is he?” the major gasped. 

“Garry Knapp.” 

Her father repeated the name slowly and his 
expression of countenance certainly displayed 
amazement. “Did I ever see the young man?” 
“No.” 

“Your aunt—one of your cousins’ friends?” 

“Dear Daddy,” said Dorothy, frankly and smil¬ 
ing a little. “I have done something not at all 
as you would expect cautious little me to do. I 
have picked a man—and, oh, he is a man, Daddy! 
—right out of the great mob of folks. Nobody 
introduced us. We just—well, met” 

“The young man has been spoken of by Tavia, 
I believe,” said Major Dale, quite cheerfully. “I 
remember now. Mr. Knapp. You met him at 
the hotel in New York?” 

“Before we got to the hotel. In the train I 
noticed him—vaguely. On the platform where 
we changed cars at that Manhattan Transfer 
place, I saw him better. I—I never was so much 
interested in a man before.” 

Major Dale looked at her rather solemnly for 
a moment. “Are you sure, my dear, it is anything 
more than fancy?” 


THE BUD UNFOLDS 


167 


“Quite sure.” 

“And—and —he -” 

The man’s voice actually trembled. Dorothy 
looked at him again, dropped the sewing from her 
lap and suddenly flung her arms about his neck. 

“Oh, my dear!” she murmured, her face hid¬ 
den. “I know he loves me, too. I am sure of 
it! Let me tell you.” 

Breathlessly, her voice quavering a little but 
full of an element of happiness that fairly thrilled 
her listener, she related all the incidents—even 
the petty details—of her acquaintance with Gar- 
ford Knapp, of Desert City. So clear was her 
picture of the young man that the major saw him 
in his mind’s eye just as Garry appeared to Doro¬ 
thy Dale. 

She went over every little thing that had hap¬ 
pened in New York in connection with the young 
Westerner. She told of her own mean suspicions 
and how they had risen from a feeling of pique 
and jealousy that never in her life had she experi¬ 
enced before. 

“That was a rather small way for me to show 
real feeling for a person. But it caught me unpre¬ 
pared,” said Dorothy, with a full-throated laugh 
although her eyes were full of tears. “I do not 
believe I am naturally of a jealous disposition; 
and I should never let such a feeling get the bet¬ 
ter of me again. It has cost me too much.” 



168 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 

She went on and told the major of the incidents 
that followed and how Garry Knapp had gone 
away so hastily without her speaking to him again. 

But the major rather lost the thread of her 
story for a moment. He was staring closely at 
her, shaking his shaggy head slowly. 

“My dear! my dear!” he murmured, “you have 
grown up. The bud has unfolded. Our demure 
little Dorothy is—and with shocking abruptness— 
blown into full womanhood. My dear!” and he 
put his arms about her again more tightly. 


CHAPTER XXII 


DOROTHY DECIDES 

Joe and Roger Dale did not feel that they were 
exactly neglected during these winter holidays. It 
is true they found their cousins, the “big fellows,” 
not so much fun as they were wont to be, and even 
Dorothy failed them at times. 

But because of these very facts the lads had 
more freedom of action than ever before. They 
were learning to think for themselves, especially 
Joe. Nor was it always mischief they thought of, 
though frequently managing to get into trouble— 
for what live and healthy boys of their age do 
not? 

Many of their narrow escapes even Dorothy 
knew nothing about. None of the family, for in¬ 
stance, knew about Joe and the lame pigeon until 
the North Birchland Fire Department was on 
the grounds with all their apparatus. 

This moving incident (Tavia declared it should 
have been a movie incident) happened between 
Christmas and the new year. Although there had 
been a good fall of snow before Kris Kringle’s 
day, it had all gone now and the roads were firmly 
169 


:;o DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 

frozen again, so the Fire Department got to The 
Cedars in record time. 

To begin with Joe and Roger were breeders of 
pigeons, as Ned and Nat had been several years 
before. On pleasant days in the winter they let 
their flock into the big flying cage, and occasion¬ 
ally allowed the carriers to take a flight in the 
open. 

On one of these occasions when the flock re¬ 
turned there was a stray with them. Roger’s 
sharp eyes spied this bird which alighted on the 
ridgepole of the stable. 

“Oh, lookut! lookut!” exclaimed the youngest 
Dale. “What a pretty one, Joe!” 

“We’ll coax it down. It’s a stray,” his brother 
said eagerly, “and all strays are fair game.” 

“But it’s lame, Joe,” Roger declared. “See! 
it can scarcely hop. And it acts as if all tired 
out.” 

“It’s a carrier, all right,” Joe said. “I bet it’s 
come a long way.” 

The bird, however, would not be coaxed to the 
ground or into the big cage. It really did appear 
exhausted. 

“I bet if I could get up there on the stable roof, 
I could pick it right up in my hand,” cried Joe. 
“I’m—I’m a-going—to try it!” 

“Oh!” murmured Roger, both his eyes and 
mouth very round. 


DOROTHY DECIDES 


I 7 i 

Joe was no “blowhard,” as the boys say. When 
he said he’d do a thing he did his best to accom¬ 
plish it. He threw off his thick jacket that would 
have hampered him, and kicked aside his over¬ 
shoes that made his feet clumsy, and started to 
go aloft in the stable. 

“You go outside and watch, Roger,” he com¬ 
manded. “There’s no skylight in this old barn 
roof—only the cupola, and I can’t get out through 
that.” 

“How are you going to do it then?” gasped 
Roger. 

“You’ll see,” his brother said with assurance, 
and began to climb the hay ladder into the top loft 
of the building. 

Roger ran out just in time to see Joe open the 
small door up in the peak of the stable roof. 
There were water-troughs all around the roof, for 
the cattle were supplied with drinking water from 
cisterns built under the ground. 

A leader ran down each corner of the stable, 
and one of these was within reach of Joe Dale’s 
hands when he swung himself out upon the door 
he had opened. 

Nobody, except the boys, were about the stable, 
and this end of the building could not be seen from 
the house. Joe had once before performed a sim¬ 
ilar trick. He had swung from the door to the 
leader-pipe and °warr~eddown to the ground. 


172 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 

“Look out you don’t tumble, Joe,” advised the 
eager Roger. But he had no idea that Joe would 
do so. The elder brother was a hero in the sight 
of the younger lad. 

Joe’s skill and strength did not fail him now. 
He caught the leader, then the water-trough itself, 
and so scrambled upon the roof. But at his last 
kick some fastening holding the leader-pipe gave 
way and the top of it swung out from the corner 
of the stable. 

“Oh, cricky!” yelled Roger. “Lucky you got 
up there, Joe. That pipe’s busted. How’ll you 
get down?” 

“Never mind that,” grunted Joe, somewhat 
breathless, scrambling up the roof to the ridge¬ 
pole. “We’ll see about that later.” 

The boy reached the ridge and straddled it. 
There he got his breath and then hitched along 
toward the cooing pigeon. It was not frightened 
by him, but it certainly was lame and exhausted. 
Joe picked it up in his hand and snuggled it into 
the breast of his sweater. 

“But how are you ever going to get down, Joe 
Dale?” shrilled Roger, from the ground. 

The question was a poser, as Joe very soon 
found out. That particular leader had been the 
only one on the stable that he could reach with 
any measure of safety; and now it hung out a 
couple of feet from the side of the building and 


DOROTHY DECIDES 


173 

Joe would not have dared trust his weight upon it, 
even could he have reached it. 

“What are you going to do?” again wailed the 
smaller lad. 

“Aw, cheese it, Roger! don’t be bawling,” ad¬ 
viced Joe from the roof. “Go and get a ladder.” 

“There isn’t any long enough to reach up there 
—you know that,” said Roger. 

Neither he nor Joe observed the fact that, even 
had there been a ladder, the smaller boy could 
not have raised it into place so that Joe could 
have descended upon it. 

None of the men working on the place was at 
hand. Ned and Nat were off on some errand in 
their car. Secretly, Roger was panic stricken and 
might have run for Dorothy, for she was still his 
refuge in all troubles. 

But Joe was older—and thought himself wiser. 
“We’ve just got to find a ladder— you’ve got to 
find it, Roger. I can’t sit up here a-straddle of 
this old roof all day. It’s co-o-old!” 

Roger started off blindly. He could not remem¬ 
ber whether any of the neighbors possessed long 
ladders or not. But as he came down to the street 
corner of the White property he saw a red box 
affixed to a telegraph pole on the edge of the side¬ 
walk. 

“Oh, bully!” gasped Roger, and immediately 

scrambled over the fence. 


174 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 

He knew what that red box was for. It had 
been explained to him, and he had longed for a 
good reason for experimenting with it. You broke 
the little square of glass and pulled down the hook 
inside- 

That is how Ned and Nat, whizzing homeward 
in their car, came to join the procession of the Fire 
Department racing out of town toward The 
Cedars. 

“Where’s the fire, Cal?” yelled Nat, seeing a 
man he knew riding on the ladder truck. 

“Right near your house, Mr. White. At any 
rate, that was the number pulled—that box by the 
corner of your mother’s place.” 

“Did you hear that, Ned?” shouted his brother, 
and Ned, who was at the wheel, “let her out,” 
breaking every speed law of the country to flind¬ 
ers. 

The Fire Chief in his red racing car was only a 
few rods ahead of the Whites, therefore, when 
Ned whirled the automobile into the driveway. 
They saw a small boy, greatly excited, dancing up 
and down on the gravel beside the chief’s car. 

“Yep—he’s up on the stable roof, I tell you. 
We’ve got to use your extension ladders to get him 
down,” Roger was saying eagerly. “I didn’t mean 
for all of the things to come—the engine, and 
hose cart, and all. Just the ladders we wanted,” 
and Roger seemed amazed that his pulling the 



DOROTHY DECIDES 


175 

hook of the fire-alarm box had not explained all 
this at fire headquarters down town. 

There was some excitement, as may well be 
believed in and about The Cedars. The Fire 
Chief was at first enraged; then he, as well as his 
men, laughed. They got Joe, still clinging to the 
stray pigeon, down from the roof, and then the 
firemen drilled back to town, reporting a ‘‘false 
alarm.” 

Major Dale, however, sent in a check to the 
Firemen’s Benefit Fund, and Joe and Roger were 
sent to bed at noon and were obliged to remain 
there until the next morning—a punishment that 
was likely long to be engraved upon their minds. 

The incident, however, had broken in upon a 
very serious conference between Dorothy Dale 
and her father. And nowadays their conferences 
were very likely to be for the discussion of but 
one subject: 

Garry Knapp and his affairs. 

Aunt Winnie, too, had been taken into Doro¬ 
thy Dale’s confidence. “I want you both,” the 
girl said, bravely, “to meet Garry Knapp and de¬ 
cide for yourselves if he is not all I say he is. And 
to do that we must get him to come here.” 

“How will you accomplish it, Dorothy?” asked 
her aunt, still more than a little confused because 
of this entirely new departure upon the part of 
her heretofore demure niece. 


1 76 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 


Dorothy explained. Another—a third—letter 
had come from Lance Petterby. He had identi¬ 
fied Garry Knapp as the Dimples Knapp he had 
previously known upon the range. Knapp was 
about to sell a run-down ranch north of Desert 
City and adjoining the rough end of the great 
Hardin Estate, that now belonged to Major Dale, 
to some speculators in wheat lands. The specula¬ 
tors, Lance said, were “sure enough sharks.” 

“First of all have our lawyers out there make 
Mr. Knapp a much better offer for his land— 
quick, before Stiffbold and Lightly close with him,” 
Dorothy suggested. “Oh! I’ve thought it all out. 
Those land speculators will allow that option they 
took on Garry’s ranch to lapse. What is a hun¬ 
dred dollars to them? Then they will play a 
waiting game until they make him come to new 
terms—a much lower price even than they offered 
him in New York. He must not sell his land to 
them, and for a song.” 

“And then?” asked the major, his eyes bright 
with pride in his daughter’s forcefulness of char¬ 
acter, as well as with amusement. 

“Have our lawyers bind the bargain with Mr. 
Knapp and ask him to come East to close the 
transaction with their principal. That’s you, 
Major. Meanwhile, have the lawyers send an 
expert to Mr. Knapp’s ranch to see if it is really 
promising wheat land if properly developed.” 


DOROTHY DECIDES 


*77 


“And then?” repeated her father. 

“If it is” said Dorothy, laughing blithely, 
“when Garry shows up and you and Aunt Winnie 
approve of him, as I know you both will, offer 
to advance the money necessary to develop the 
wheat ranch instead of buying the land. 

“That,” Dorothy Dale said earnestly, “will 
give him the start in business life he needs. I 
know he has it in him to make good. He can ex¬ 
pect no fortune from his uncle in Alaska, who is 
angry with him; he will never hear to using any 
of my money to help bring success; but in this way 
he will have his chance. I believe he will be in¬ 
dependent in a few years.” 

“And, meanwhile, what of you?” cried her 
aunt. 

“I shall be waiting for him,” replied Dorothy 
with a smile that Tavia, had she seen it, would 
have pronounced “seraphic.” 

“Major! did you ever hear of such talk from 
a girl?” gasped Aunt Winnie. 

“No,” said her brother, with immense satis¬ 
faction, and thumping approval on the floor with* 
his cane. “Because there never was just such a 
girl since the world began as my little captain. 

“I want to see this wonderful Garry Knapp— 
don’t you, Sister? I’m sure he must be a per¬ 
fectly wonderful young man to so stir our Doro¬ 
thy.” 


178 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 


“No,” Dorothy said slowly shaking her head. 
“I know he is only wonderful in my eyes. But 
I am quite sure you and Aunt Winnie will com¬ 
mend my choice when you have met him—if we 
can only get him here!” 


CHAPTER XXIII 


NAT JUMPS AT A CONCLUSION 

All this time Tavia and Nat were having any¬ 
thing but a happy life. Nat would not have ad¬ 
mitted it for the world, but he wished he could 
leave home and never appear at The Cedars again 
until Tavia had gone. 

On her part, Tavia would have returned to Dal¬ 
ton before the new year had Dorothy allowed her 
to have her own way. Dorothy would not hear 
of such a thing. 

To make the situation worse for the pair of 
young people so tragically enduring their first 
vital misunderstanding, Ned and Jennie Hapgood 
were sailing upon a sea of blissful and unruffled 
happiness. Nat and Tavia could not help noting 
this fact. The feeling of the exalted couple for 
each other was so evident that even the Dale boys 
discussed it—and naturally with deep disgust. 

“Gee!” breathed Joe, scandalized. “Old Ned 
is so mushy over Jennie Hapgood that he goes 
around in a trance. He could tread on his own 
corns and not know it, his head is so far up in 
the clouds. Gee!” 


179 


i8o DOROTHY DALE'S ENGAGEMENT 


“/ wouldn’t ever get so silly over a girl—not 
even our Dorothy,” Roger declared. “Would 
you, Joe?” 

“Not in a hundred years,” was his brother’s 
earnest response. 

The major admitted with a chuckle that Ned 
certainly was hard hit. The time set for Jennie 
Hapgood to return to Sunnyside Farm came and 
passed, and still many reasons were found for the 
prolongation of her visit. Ned went off to New 
York one day by himself and brought home at 
night something that made a prominent bulge in 
his lower right-hand vest pocket. 

“Oh, oh, OH! Dorothy!” ejaculated Tavia, for 
the moment coming out of her own doldrums. 
“Do you know what it is? A Tiffany box! Noth¬ 
ing less!” 

“Dear old Ned,” said her chum, with a smile. 

Ned and Jennie disappeared together right 
after dinner. Then, an hour later, they appeared 
in the drawing-room where the family was as* 
sembled and Ned led Jennie forward by her left 
hand—the fingers prominently extended. 

“White gold—platinum!” murmured Tavia, 
standing enthralled as she beheld the beautifully 
set stone. 

“Set old Ned back five hundred bucks if it did 
a cent,” growled Nat, under his breath and keep¬ 
ing in the background. 


NAT JUMPS AT A CONCLUSION 181 


“Oh, Jennie!” cried Dorothy, jumping up. 

But Aunt Winnie seemed to be nearest. She 
reached the happy couple before anybody else. 

“Ned needn’t tell me,” she said, with a little 
laugh and a little sob and putting both arms about 
Jennie. “Welcome, my daughter! Very welcome 
to the White family. I have for years tried to 
divide Dorothy with the major; now I am to have 
at least one daughter of my very own.” 

Did she flash a glance at Tavia standing in the 
background? Tavia thought so. The proud and 
headstrong girl was shot to the quick with the 
arrow of the thought that Mrs. White had been 
told by Nat of the difference between himself and 
Tavia and that the lady would never come to 
Tavia and ask that question on behalf of her 
younger son that the girl so desired her to ask. 

Never before had Tavia realized so keenly the 
great chasm between herself and Jennie Hapgood. 
Mrs. White welcomed Jennie so warmly, and was 
so glad, because Jennie was of the same level in 
society as the Whites. Both in blood and wealth 
Jennie was Ned’s equal. 

Tavia knew very well that by explaining to Nat 
about Lance Petterby’s letters she could easily 
bring that young man to his knees. In her heart, 
in the very fiber of the girl’s being, indeed, had 
grown the desire to have Dorothy Dale’s Aunt 
Winnie tell her that she, too, would be welcome in 


182 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 


the White family. Now Tavia doubted if Aunt 
Winnie would ever do that. 

Jennie was to go home to Sunnyside Farm the 
next day. This final decision had probably 
spurred Ned to action. Because of certain busi¬ 
ness matters in town which occupied both Ned 
and Nat at train time and the fact that Dorothy 
was busy with some domestic duty, it was Tavia 
who drove the Fire Bird, the Whites’ old car, to 
the station with Jennie Hapgood. 

A train from the West had come in a few min¬ 
utes before the westbound one which Jennie was 
to take was due. Tavia, sitting in the car while 
Jennie ran to get her checks, saw a tall man carry¬ 
ing two heavy suitcases and wearing a broad- 
brimmed hat walking down the platform. 

“Why! if that doesn’t look-Surely it can’t 

be—I—I believe I’ve got ’em again!” murmured 
Tavia Travers. 

Then suddenly she shot out from, behind the 
wheel, leaped to the platform, and ran straight for 
the tall figure. 

“Garry Knapp!” she exploded. 

“Why—why—Miss Travers!” responded the 
big young man, smiling suddenly and that “cute” 
little dimple just showing in his bronzed cheek. 
“You don’t mean to say you live in this man’s 
town?” 

He looked about the station in a puzzled way, 



NAT JUMPS AT A CONCLUSION 183 


and, having dropped his bags to shake hands with 
her, rubbed the side of his head as though to 
awaken his understanding. 

“I don’t understand your being here, Miss 
Travers,” he murmured. 

“Why, I’m visiting here,” she said, blithely. 
“But you -?” 

“I—I’m here on business. Or I think I am,” 
he said soberly. “How’s your—Miss Dale! 
She doesn’t live here, does she?” 

“Of course. Didn’t you know?” demanded 
Tavia, eyeing him curiously. 

“No. Who—what’s this Major Dale to her, 
Miss Travers?” asked the young man and his 
heavy brows met for an instant over his nose. 

“Her father, of course, Mr. Knapp. Didn’t 
you know Dorothy’s father was the only Major 
Dale there is, and the nicest man there ever was ?” 

“How should I know?” demanded Garry 
Knapp, contemplating Tavia with continued ser¬ 
iousness. “What is he—a real estate man?” 

“Why! didn’t you know?” Tavia asked, think¬ 
ing quickly. “Didn’t I tell you that time that he 
was a close friend of Colonel Hardin, who owned 
that estate you told me joined your ranch there 
by Desert City?” 

“Uh-huh,” grunted the young man. “Seems to 
me you did tell me something about that. But I— 
I must have had my mind on something else.” 



184 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 


“On somebody else, you mean,” said Tavia, 
dimpling suddenly. “Well! Colonel Hardin left 
his place to Major Dale.” 

“Oh! that’s why, then. He wants to buy my 
holdings because his land joins mine,” said Garry 
Knapp, reflectively. 

Tavia had her suspicions of the truth well 
aroused; but all she replied was: 

“I shouldn’t wonder, Mr. Knapp.” 

“I got a good offer—leastways, better than 
those sharks, Stiffbold and Lightly, would make 
me after they’d seen the ranch—from some law¬ 
yers out there. They planked down a thousand 
for an option, and told me to come East and close 
the deal with this Major Dale. And it never 
entered into this stupid head of mine that he was 
related to—to Miss Dale.” 

“Isn’t that funny?” giggled Tavia. Then, as 
Jennie appeared from the baggage room and the 
westbound train whistled for the station, she 
added: “Just wait for me until I see a friend off 
on this train, Mr. Knapp, and I’ll drive you out.” 

“Drive me out where?” asked Garry Knapp. 

“To see—er— Major Dale,” she returned, and 
ran away. 

When the train had gone she found the West¬ 
erner standing between his two heavy bags about 
where she had left him. 

“Those old suitcases look so natural,” she said, 


NAT JUMPS AT A CONCLUSION 185 

laughing at his serious face. “Throw them into 
the tonneau and sit beside me in front. I’ll show 
you some driving.” 

“But look here! I can’t do this,” he objected. 

“You cannot do what?” demanded Tavia. 

“Are you staying with Miss Dale?” 

“Of course I am staying with Doro. I don’t 
know but I am more at home at The Cedars than 
I am at the Travers domicile in Dalton.” 

“But wait!” he begged. “There must be a 
hotel here?” 

“In North Birchland? Of course.” 

“You’d better take me there, Miss Travers, if 
you’ll be so kind. I want to secure a room.” 

“Nothing doing! Youive got to come out to 
The Cedars with me,” Tavia declared. “Why, 
Do—I mean, of course, Major Dale would never 
forgive me if I failed to bring you, baggage and 
all. His friends do not stop at the North Birch¬ 
land House I’d have you know.” 

“But, honestly, Miss Travers, I don’t like it. 
I don’t understand it. And Major Dale isn’t my 
friend.” 

“Oh, isn’t he? You just wait and see!” cried 
Tavia. “I didn’t know about your coming East. 
Of course, if it is business-” 

“That is it, exactly,” the young man said, ner¬ 
vously. “I—I couldn’t impose upon these peo¬ 
ple, you know.” 



186 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 


“Say! you want to sell your land, don’t you?” 
demanded Tavia. 

“Ye—es,” admitted Garry Knapp, slowly. 

“Well, if a man came out your way to settle 
a business matter, you wouldn’t let him go to a 
hotel, would you? You’d be angry,” said Tavia, 
sensibly, “if he insisted upon doing such a thing. 
Major Dale could not have been informed when 
you would^arrive, or he would have had somebody 
here at the station to meet you.” 

“No. I didn’t tell the lawyers when I’d start,” 
said Garry. 

“Don’t make a bad matter worse then,” laughed 
Tavia, her eyes twinkling as she climbed in and 
sat back of the wheel. “Hurry up. If you want 
to sell your land you’d better waste no more time 
getting out to The Cedars.” 

The Westerner got into the car in evident doubt. 
He suspected that he had been called East for 
something besides closing a real estate transac¬ 
tion. Tavia suspected so, too; and she was vastly 
amused. 

She drove slowly, for Garry began asking her 
for full particulars about Dorothy and the fam¬ 
ily. Tavia actually did not know anything about 
the proposed purchase of the Knapp ranch by her 
chum’s father. Dorothy had said not a word to 
her about Garry since their final talk some weeks 
before. 


NAT JUMPS AT A CONCLUSION 187 


At a place in the woods where there was not a 
house in sight, Tavia even stopped the car the 
better to give her full attention to Mr. Garry 
Knapp, and to talk him out of certain objections 
that seemed to trouble his mind. 

It was just here that Nat White, on a sputtering 
motorcycle he sometimes rode, passed the couple 
in the automobile. He saw Tavia talking earn¬ 
estly to a fine-looking, broad-shouldered young 
man wearing a hat of Western style. She had an 
eager hand upon his shoulder and the stranger 
was evidently much interested in what the girl 
said. 

Nat did not even slow down. It is doubtful if 
Tavia noticed him at all. Nat went straight home, 
changed his clothes, flung a few things into a trav¬ 
eling bag, and announced to his mother that he 
was off for Boston to pay some long-promised vis¬ 
its to friends there and in Cambridge. 

Nat, with his usual impulsiveness, had jumped 
at a conclusion which, like most snap judgments, 
was quite incorrect. He rode to the railroad 
station by another way and so did not meet Tavia 
and Garry Knapp as they approached The 
Cedars. 


CHAPTER XXIV 


THIN ICE 

Dorothy spied the Fire Bird just as it turned 
in at the entrance gate. And she identified the 
person sitting beside her chum, too. Therefore, 
she had a few minutes in which to prepare for her 
meeting with Garry Knapp. 

She was on the porch when the car stopped, and 
her welcome to the young Westerner possessed 
just the degree of cordiality that it should. 
Neither by word nor look did she betray the fact 
that her heart’s action was accelerated, or that she 
felt a thrill of joy to think that the first of her 
moves in this intricate game had been successful. 

“Of course, it would be Tavia’s good fortune 
to pick you up at the station,” she said, while 
Garry held her hand just a moment longer than 
was really necessary for politeness’ sake. “Had 
you telegraphed us-” 

“I hadn’t a thought that I was going to run up 
against Miss Travers or you, Miss Dale,” he said. 

“Oh, then, this is a business visit?” and she 
laughed. “Entirely? You only wish to see Major 
Dale?” 


188 



THIN ICE 


189 


“Well—now—that’s unfair,” he said, his eyes 
twinkling. “But I told Miss Travers she might 
drive me to the hotel.” 

“Oh, this will be your hotel while you remain, of 
course. Father would not hear of anything else 
I am sure.” 

“I can thank you, then, Miss Dale,” he said 
quietly and with a sudden serious mien, “for the 
chance to sell my ranch at a better price than those 
sharks were ready to give?” 

“No. You may thank Major Dale’s bump of 
acquisitiveness,” she said, laughing at him over 
her shoulder as she led the way into the house. 
“Having so much land already out there, like 
other great property owners, he is always looking 
for more.” 

If Garry Knapp was not assured that she was 
entirely frank upon this matter, he knew that his 
welcome was as warm as though he were really 
an old friend. He met Mrs. White almost at 
once, and Dorothy was delighted by her marked 
approval of him. 

Garry Knapp got to the major by slow degrees. 
Tavia marveled as she watched Dorothy Dale’s 
calm and assured methods. This was the demure, 
cautious girl whom she had always looked upon 
as being quite helpless when it came to managing 
“affairs” with members of the opposite sex. Tavia 
imagined she was quite able to manage any man— 


190 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 


“put him in his place,” she termed it—much bet¬ 
ter than Dorothy Dale. But now! 

Dorothy quietly sent Joe and Roger out for 
Mr. Knapp’s bags and told them to take the bags 
up to an indicated room. She made no fuss about 
it, but took it for granted that Garry Knapp had 
come for a visit, not for a call. 

The young man from the West had to sit down 
and talk with Aunt Winnie. That lady proceeded 
in her good-humored and tactful way to draw him 
out. Aunt Winnie learned more about Garry 
Knapp in those few minutes than even Tavia had 
learned when she took dinner with the young man. 
And all the time the watchful Dorothy saw Garry 
Knapp growing in her aunt’s estimation. 

Ned came in. He had been fussing and fuming 
because business had kept him from personally 
seeing Jennie Hapgood aboard her train. He 
welcomed this big fellow from the West, per¬ 
haps, because he helped take Ned’s mind off his 
own affairs. 

“Come on up and dress for dinner,” Ned sug¬ 
gested, having gained Garry Knapp’s sole atten¬ 
tion. “It’s pretty near time for the big eats, and 
mother is a stickler for the best bib and tucker at 
the evening meal.” 

“Great Scott!” gasped Garry Knapp in a panic. 
“You don’t mean dinner dress? I haven’t had on 
a swallowtail since I was in college.” 


THIN ICE 


191 

‘‘Tuxedo will do,” Ned said lightly. “If you 
didn’t bring ’em I’ll lend you. I’m about as broad 
as you, my boy.” 

Garry Knapp was three or four years older than 
Ned, and that “my boy” sounded rather funny. 
However, the Westerner did not smile. He ac¬ 
cepted the loan of the dinner coat and the vest 
without comment, but he looked very serious while 
he was dressing. 

They went down together to meet the girls in 
the drawing-room. Dorothy Dale and Tavia had 
dressed especially for the occasion. Tavia 
flaunted her fine feathers frankly; but demure 
Dorothy’s eyes shone more gloriously than her 
frock. Ned said: 

“You look scrumptious, Coz. And, of course, 
Tavia, you are a vision of delight. Where’s 
Nat?” 

“Nat?” questioned Tavia, her countenance fall¬ 
ing. “Is—isn’t he upstairs?” 

“Why, don’t you know?” Dorothy cried. “He’s 
gone to Boston. Left just before you came back 
from the station, Tavia.” 

“Well, of all things!” Ned said. “I’d have 
gone with him if I’d really believed he meant it. 
Old groueh! He’s been talking of lighting out 
for a week. But I am glad,” he added cordially, 
looking at Garry Knapp, “that I did not go. Then 
I, too, might have missed meeting Mr. Knapp.” 


192 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 

Now, what was it kept Major Dale away from 
the dinner table that evening? His excuse was 
that a twinge or two of rheumatism kept him from 
appearing with the family when dinner was called. 
And yet Dorothy did not appear worried by her 
father’s absence as she ordinarily would have 
been. Tavia was secretly delighted by this added 
manifestation of Dorothy’s finesse. Garry Knapp 
could not find any excuse for withdrawing from 
the house until he had interviewed the major. 

As was usual at The Cedars, the evening meal 
was a lively and enjoyable occasion. Tavia suc¬ 
cessfully hid her chagrin at Nat’s absence; but 
Joe and Roger were this evening the life of the 
company. 

“The river’s frozen,” sang Roger, “and we’re 
going skating on it, Joe and I. Did you ever go 
skating, Mr. Knapp?” for Roger believed it only 
common politeness to bring the visitor into the 
conversation. 

“Sure enough,” laughed Garry Knapp. “I 
used to be some skater, too.” 

“You’d better come,” said Roger. “It’s going 
to be moonlight—Popeye Jordan says so, and he 
knows, for his father lights the street lamps and 
this is one of the nights he doesn’t have to work.” 

“I hope Popeye hasn’t made a mistake—or 
Mr. Jordan, either—in reading the almanac,” 
Dorothy said, when the laugh had subsided. 


THIN ICE 


193 

“You’d better come, too, Dorothy,” said Joe. 
“The river’s as smooth as glass.” 

“Let’s all go,” proposed Tavia, glad to be in 
anything active that would occupy her mind and 
perhaps would push out certain unpleasant 
thoughts that lodged there. 

“Mr. Knapp has no skates,” said Dorothy, 
softly. 

“Don’t let that stop you,” the Westerner put 
in, smiling. “I can go and look on.” 

“Oh, I guess we can give you a look in ” said 
Ned. “There’s Nat’s skates. I think he didn’t 
take ’em with him.” 

“Will they fit Mr. Knapp?” asked Tavia. 

“Dead sure that nobody’s got a bigger foot 
than old Nat,” said his brother wickedly. “If 
Mr. Knapp can get into my coat, he’ll find no 
trouble in getting into Nat’s shoes.” 

Ned rather prided himself on his own small and 
slim foot and often took a fling at the size of his 
brother’s shoes. But now, Nat not being present, 
he hoped to “get a rise” out of Tavia. The girl, 
however, bit her lip and said nothing. She was 
not even defending Nat these days. 

It was concluded that all should go—that is, all 
the young people then present. Nat and Jennie’s 
absence made what Ned called “a big hole” in the 
company. 

“You be good to me, Dot,” he said to his cousin, 


194 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 


as they waited in the side hall for Tavia to come 
down. “I’m going to miss Jennie awfully. I want 
to skate with you and tell you all about it.” 

“All about what?” demanded his cousin, laugh¬ 
ing. 

“Why, all about how we came to—to—to find 
out we cared for each other,” Ned whispered, 
blunderingly enough but very earnest. “You 
know, Dot, it’s just wonderful-” 

“You go on, dear,” said Dorothy, poking a 
gloved forefinger at him. “If you two sillies didn’t 
know you were in love with each other till you 
brought home the ring the other night, why every¬ 
body else in the neighborhood was aware of the 
fact aeons and aeons ago!” 

“Huh?” grunted Ned, his eyes blinking in sur¬ 
prise. 

“It was the most transparent thing in the world. 
Everybody around here saw how the wind blew.” 

“You don’t mean it!” said the really astonished 
Ned. “Well! and I didn’t know it myself till I 
began to think how bad a time I was going to 
have without Jennie. I wish old Nat would play 
up to Tavia.” 

Dorothy looked at him scornfully. “Well! of 
all the stupid people who ever lived, most men are 
it” she thought. But what she said aloud was: 

“I want to skate with Mr. Knapp, Nedward. 
You know he is our guest. You take Tavia.” 



THIN ICE 


195 


“Pshaw 1” muttered her cousin as the girl in 
question appeared and Garry Knapp and the boys 
came in from the porch where the Westerner had 
been trying on Nat’s skating boots. “I can’t talk 
to the flyaway as I can to you. But I don’t blame 
you for wanting to skate with Knapp. He seems 
like a mighty fine fellow.” 

Dorothy was getting the family’s opinion, one 
by one, of the man Tavia wickedly whispered 
Dorothy had “set her cap” for. The younger boys 
were plainly delighted with Garry Knapp. When 
the party got to the river Joe and Roger would 
scarcely let the guest and Dorothy get away by 
themselves. 

Garry Knapp skated somewhat awkwardly at 
first, for he had not been on the ice for several 
years. But he was very sure footed and it was evi¬ 
dent utterly unafraid. 

He soon “got the hang of it,” as he said, and 
was then ready to skate away with Dorothy. The 
Dale boys tried to keep up; but with one of his 
smiles into the girl’s face, Knapp suddenly all But 
picked her up and carried her off at a great pace 
over the shining, black ice. 

“Oh! you take my breath!” she cried half 
aloud, yet clinging with delight to his arm. 

“We’ll dodge the little scamps and then get 
down to talk” he said. “I want to know all about 


196 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 


“All about what?” she returned, looking at him 
with shy eyes and a fluttering at her heart that she 
was glad he could not know about. 

“About this game of getting me East again. 
I can see your fine Italian hand in this, Miss Dale. 
Does your father really need my land?” 

He said it bluntly, and although he smiled, 
Dorothy realized there was something quite ser¬ 
ious behind his questioning. 

“Well, you see, after you had left the hotel in 
New York, Tavia and I overheard those two 
awful men you agreed to sell to talking about the 
bargain,” she said rather stumblingly, but with 
earnestness. 

“You did!” he exclaimed. “The sharks!” 

“That is exactly what they were. They said 
after Stiffbold got out West he would try to beat 
you down in your price, although at the terms 
agreed upon he knew he was getting a bargain.” 

“Oh-ho!” murmured Garry Knapp. “That’s 
the way of it, eh? They had me scared all right. 
I gave them an option for thirty days for a hun¬ 
dred dollars and they let the option run out. I 
was about to accept a lower price when your fath¬ 
er’s lawyers came around.” 

“You see, Tavia and I were both interested,” 
Dorothy explained. “And Tavia wrote to a 
friend of ours, Lance Petterby-” 

“Ah! that’s why old Lance came riding over 




IT SEEMED TO DOROTHY THAT THEY FAIRLY FLEW OVER THE 

OPEN WATER. 


Dorothy Dale’s Engagement 


Page 198 







t 








# 













THIN ICE 


197 


to Bob Douglass* place, was it?” murmured Garry. 

“Then,” said Dorothy, bravely, “I mentioned 
the matter to father, and he is always willing to 
buy property adjoining the Hardin place. Thinks 
it is a good investment. He and Aunt Winnie, 
too, have a high opinion of that section of the 
country. They believe it is the coming wheat¬ 
growing land of the States.” 

Garry’s mind seemed not to be absorbed by 
this phase of the subject. He said abruptly: 

“Your folks are mighty rich, Miss Dale, aren’t 
they?” 

Dorothy started at this blunt and unusual ques¬ 
tion, but, after a moment’s hesitation, decided to 
answer as frankly as the question had been put. 

“Oh! Aunt Winnie married a wealthy man— 
yes,” she said. “Professor Winthrop White. But 
we were very poor, indeed, until a few years ago 
when a distant relative left the major some prop¬ 
erty. Then, of course, this Hardin estate is a 
big thing.” 

“Yes,” said Garry, shortly. “And you are 
going to be wealthy in your own right when you 
are of age. So your little friend told me.” 

“Yes,” sighed Dorothy. “Tavia will talk. The 
same relative who left father his first legacy, tied 
up some thousands for poor little me.” 

Immediately Garry Knapp talked of other 
things. The night was fine and the moon, a sih 7 ~~ 


198 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 


paring, hung low above the hills. The stars were 
so bright that they were reflected in the black ice 
under the skaters’ ringing steel. 

Garry and Dorothy had shot away from the 
others and were now well down the river toward 
the milldam. So perfectly had the ice frozen that 
when they turned the blades of the skates left 
long, soaplike shavings behind them. 

With clasped hands, they took the stroke to¬ 
gether perfectly. Never had Dorothy skated with 
a partner that suited her so well. Nor had she 
ever sped more swiftly over the ice. 

Suddenly, she felt Garry’s muscles stiffen and 
saw his head jerk up as he stared ahead. 

“What is it?” she murmured, her own eyes so 
misty that she could not see clearly. Then in a 
moment she uttered a frightened “Oh!” 

They had crossed the river, and now, on com¬ 
ing back, there unexpectedly appeared a long, open 
space before them. The water was so still that 
at a distance the treacherous spot looked just like 
the surrounding ice. 

The discovery was made too late for them to 
stop. Indeed, Garry Knapp increased his speed, 
picked her up in his arms and it seemed to Dor¬ 
othy that they fairly flew over the open water, 
landing with a resonant ring of steel upon the 
safe ice beyond. 

For the moment that she was held tightly in the 


THIN ICE 


199 

young man’s arms, she clung to him with some¬ 
thing besides fear. 

“Oh, Garry!” she gasped when he set her down 
again. 

“Some jump, eh?” returned the young man 
coolly. 

They skated on again without another word. 


CHAPTER XXV 


GARRY BALKS 

The major was ready to see Harry Knapp at 
nine o’clock the next morning. He was suffering 
one of his engagements with the enemy rheuma¬ 
tism, and there really was a strong reason for his 
having put off this interview until the shy West¬ 
erner had become somewhat settled at The Cedars 
as a guest. 

Dorothy took Garry up to the major’s room 
after breakfast, and they found him well-wrapped 
in a rug, sitting in his sun parlor which overlooked 
the lawns of The Cedars. 

The young man from the West could not help 
being impressed by the fact that he was the guest 
of a family that was well supplied with this world’s 
goods—one that was used to luxury as well as 
comfort. Is it strange that the most impressive 
point to him was the fact that he had no right to 
even think of trying to win Dorothy Dale? 

When he had awakened that morning and 
looked over the luxurious furnishings of his cham¬ 
ber and the bathroom and dressing room con¬ 
nected with it, he had told himself: 


200 


GARRY BALKS 


201 


“Garford Knapp, you are in wrong! This is 
no place for a cowpuncher from the Western 
plains. What little tad of money you can sell 
your ranch for won’t put you in any such class as 
these folk belong to. 

“And as for thinking of that girl—Great Scot! 
I’d make a fine figure asking any girl used to such 
luxury as this to come out and share a shack in 
Desert City or thereabout, while I punched cattle, 
or went to keeping store, or tried to match my 
wits in real estate with the sharks that exploit land 
out there. 

“Forget it, Garford!” he advised himself, 
grimly. “If you can make an honest deal with 
this old major, make it and then clear out. This 
is no place for you.” 

He had, therefore, braced himself for the in¬ 
terview. The major, eyeing him keenly as he 
walked down the long room beside Dorothy, made 
his own judgment—as he always did—instantly. 
When Dorothy had gone he said frankly to the 
young man: 

“Mr. Knapp, I’m glad to see you. I have heard 
so much about you that I feel you and I are al¬ 
ready friends.” 

“Thank you, sir,” said Garry, quietly, eyeing 
the major with as much interest as the latter eyed 
him. 

“When my daughter was talking one day about 


202 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 


you and the land you had in the market adjoining 
the Hardin tract it struck me that perhaps it 
would be a good thing to buy,” went on the major, 
briskly. “So I set our lawyers on your trail.” 

“So Miss Dorothy tells me, sir,” the young man 
said. 

“Now, they know all about the offer made you 
by those sharpers, Stiffbold & Lightly. They ad¬ 
vised me to risk a thousand dollar option on your 
ranch and I telegraphed them to make you the 
offer.” 

“And you may believe I was struck all of a 
heap, sir,” said the young man, still eyeing the 
major closely. “I’ll tell you something: You’ve 
got me guessing.” 

“How’s that?” asked the amused Major Dale. 

“Why, people don’t come around and hand me 
a thousand dollars every day—and just on a gam¬ 
ble.” 

“Sure I am gambling?” responded the major. 

“I’m not sure of anything,” admitted Garry 
Knapp. “But it looks like that. I accepted the 
certified check—I have it with me. I don’t know 
but I’d better hand it back to you, Major, for I 
think you have been misinformed about the real 
value of the ranch. The price per acre your law¬ 
yers offer is away above the market.” 

“Hey!” exclaimed Major Dale. “You call 
yourself a business man?” 


GARRY BALKS 


203 


“Not much of one, I suppose,” said Garry. 
“I’ll sell you my ranch quick enough at a fair 
price. But this looks as if you were doing me a 
favor. I think you have been influenced.” 

“Eh?” stammered the astounded old gentle¬ 
man. 

“By your daughter,” said Garry, quietly. “I’m 
conceited enough to think it is because of Miss 
Dale that you make me the offer you do.” 

“Any crime in that?” demanded the major. 

“No crime exactly,” rejoined Garry with one of 
his rare smiles, “unless I take advantage of it. 
But I’m not the sort of fellow, Major Dale, who 
can willingly accept more than I can give value 
for. Your offer for my ranch is beyond reason.” 

“Would you have thought so if another 
nian—somebody instead of my daughter’s 

father-” and his eyes twinkled as he said it, 

“had made you the offer?” 

Garry Knapp was silent and showed confusion. 
The major went on with some grimness of ex¬ 
pression: 

“But if your conscience troubles you and you 
wish to call the deal off, now is your chance to re¬ 
turn the check.” 

Instantly Garry pulled his wallet from his 
pocket and produced the folded green slip, good 
for a thousand dollars at the Desert City Trust 
Company. 



204 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 

“There you are, sir,’’ he said quietly, and laid 
the paper upon the arm of the major’s chair. 

The old gentleman picked it up, identified it, and 
slowly tore the check into strips, eyeing the young 
man meanwhile. 

“Then,’’ he said, calmly, “that phase of the mat¬ 
ter is closed. But you still wish to sell your 
ranch?” 

“I do, Major Dale. But I can’t accept what 
anybody out there would tell you was a price out 
of all reason.” 

“Except my lawyers,” suggested the major. 

“Well-” 

“Young man, you have done a very foolish 
thing,” said Major Dale. “A ridiculous thing, 
perhaps. Unless you are shrewder than you 
seem. My lawyers have had your land thoroughly 
cruised. You have the best wheat land, in embryo, 
anywhere in the Desert City region.” 

Garry started and stared at him for a minute 
without speaking. Then he sighed and shrugged 
his shoulders. 

“That may be, sir. Perhaps you do know more 
about the intrinsic value of my ranch than I do 
myself. But I know it would cost a mint of money 
to develop that old rundown place into wheat 
soil.” 

“Humph! and if you had this—er —mint of 
money, what would you do?” 



GARRY BALKS 


205 


“Do? I’d develop it myself!” cried the young 
man, startled into enthusiastic speech. “I know 
there is a fortune there. You are making big 
profits on the Hardin place already, I understand. 
Cattle have gone out; but wheat has come to stay. 
Oh, I know all about that! But what’s the use?” 

“Have you tried to raise money for the develop¬ 
ment of your land?” asked the major quietly. 

“I’ve talked to some bankers, yes. Nothing 
doing. The machinery and fertilizer cost at the 
first would be prohibitive. A couple of crop fail¬ 
ures would wipe out everything, and the banks 
don’t want land on their hands. As for the money¬ 
lenders—well, Major Dale, you can imagine what 
sort of hold they demand when they deal with a 
person in my situation.” 

“And you would rather have what seems to you 
a fair price for your land and get it off your 
hands?” 

“I’ll accept a fair price—yes. But I can’t ac¬ 
cept any favors,” said the young man, his face 
gloomy enough but as stubborn as ever. 

“I see,” said the major. “Then what will you 
do with the money you get?” 

“Try to get into some business that will make 
me more,” and Garry looked up again with a 
sudden smile. 

“Raising wheat does not attract you, then?” 

“It’s the biggest prospect in that section. I 


2o6 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 


know it has cattle raising and even mining backed 
clear across the board. But it’s no game for a 
little man with little capital.” 

“Then why not get into it?” asked Major Dale, 
still speaking quietly. “You seem enthusiastic. 
Enthusiasm and youth—why, my boy, they will 
carry a fellow far!” 

Garry looked at him in a rather puzzled way. 
“But don’t I tell you, Major Dale, that the banks 
will not let me have money?” 

“I’ll let you have the money—and at a fair in¬ 
terest,” said Major Dale. 

Garry smiled slowly and put out his hand. The 
major quickly took it and his countenance began 
to brighten. But what Garry said caused the old 
gentleman’s expression to become suddenly dole¬ 
ful : 

“I can’t accept your offer, sir. I know that it 
is a favor—a favor that is suggested by Miss 
Dorothy. If it were not for her, you would never 
have thought of sending for me or making either 
of these more than kind propositions you have 
made. 

“I shall have to say no—and thank you.” 


CHAPTER XXVI 


SERIOUS THOUGHTS 

The young people at The Cedars had taken 
Garry Knapp right into the heart of their social 
life. He knew he was welcome and the hospital¬ 
ity shown him was a most delightful experience for 
the young Westerner. 

But “business was business.” He could not see 
wherein he had any right to accept a favor from 
Major Dale because Dorothy wished her father 
to aid him. That was not Garry’s idea of a manly 
part—to use the father of the girl you love as a 
staff in getting on in the world. 

There was no conceit in Garry’s belief that he 
had tacit permission, was it right to accept it, to 
try to win Dorothy Dale’s heart and hand. He 
was just as well assured in his soul that Dorothy 
had been attracted to him as he was that she had 
gained his affection. “Love like a lightning bolt,” 
Tavia had called Dorothy’s interest in Garry 
Knapp. It was literally true in the young man’s 
case. He had fallen in love with Dorothy Dale 
almost at first sight. 

Every time he saw her during that all too brief 
207 


2o8 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 


occasion in New York his feeling for the girl had 
grown. By leaps and bounds it increased until, 
just as Tavia had once said, if Dorothy had been 
in Tavia’s financial situation Garry Knapp would 
never have left New York without first learning 
whether or not there was any possible chance of 
his winning the girl he knew he loved. 

Now it was revealed to him that he had that 
chance—and bitterly did he regret the knowledge. 
For he gained it at the cost of his peace of mind. 

It is one thing to long for the object forbidden 
us; it is quite another thing to know that we may 
claim that longed-for object if honor did not in¬ 
terfere. To Garry Knapp’s mind he could not 
meet what was Dorothy Dale’s perfectly proper 
advances, and keep his own self-respect. 

Were he more sanguine, or a more imaginative 
young man, he might have done so. But Garry 
Knapp’s head was filled with hard, practical com¬ 
mon sense. Young men and more often young 
girls allow themselves to become engaged with 
little thought for the future. Garry was not that 
kind. Suppose Dorothy Dale did accept his at¬ 
tentions and was willing to wait for him until he 
could win out in some line of industrial endeavor 
that would afford the competence that he believed 
he should possess before marrying a girl used to 
the luxuries Dorothy was used to, Garry Knapp 
felt it would be wrong to accept the sacrifice. 


SERIOUS THOUGHTS 


209 


The chances of business life, especially for a 
young man with the small experience and the small 
capital he would have, were too great. To “tie a 
girl up” under such circumstances was a thing 
Garry could not contemplate and keep his self- 
respect. He would not, he told himself, be led 
even to admit by word or look that he desired to 
be Dorothy’s suitor. 

To hide this desire during the few days he re¬ 
mained at The Cedars was the hardest task Garry 
Knapp had ever undertaken. If Dorothy was 
demure and modest she was likewise determined. 
Her happiness, she felt, was at stake and although 
she could but admire the attitude Garry held upon 
this momentous question she did not feel that he 
was right. 

“Why, what does it matter about money—mere 
money?” she said one night to Tavia, confessing 
everything when her chum had crept into her bed 
with her after the lights were out. “I believe I 
care for money less than he does.” 

“You bet you do!” ejaculated Tavia, vigor¬ 
ously. “Just at present that young cowboy per¬ 
son is caring more for money than Ananias did. 
Money looks bigger to him than anything else in 
the world. With money he could have you, Doro 
Doodlekins—don’t you see?” 

“But he can have me without!” wailed Doro¬ 
thy, burying her head in the pillow. 


2io DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 

“Oh, no he can’t,” Tavia said wisely and quietly. 
“You know he can’t. If you could tempt him to 
throw up his principles in the matter, you know 
very well, Doro, that you would be heartbroken.” 

“What?” 

“Yes you would. You wouldn’t want a young 
man dangling after you who had thrown aside his 
self-respect for a girl. Now, would you?” And 
without waiting for an answer she continued: “Not 
that I approve of his foolishness. Some men are 
that way, however. Thank heaven I am not a 
man.” 

“Oh! I’m glad you’re not, either,” confessed 
Dorothy with her soft lips now against Tavia’s 
cheek. 

“Thank you, ma’am. I have often thought I’d 
like to be of the hemale persuasion; but never, no 
more!” declared Tavia, with vigor. “Suppose / 
should then be afflicted with an ingrowing con¬ 
science about taking money from the woman I 
married? Whe-e-e-ew!” 

“He wouldn’t have to,” murmured Dorothy, 
burying her head again and speaking in a muf¬ 
fled voice. “I’d give up the money.” 

“And if he had any sense or unselfishness at all 
he wouldn’t let you do that” snapped Tavia. 
“No. You couldn’t get along without much money 
now, Dorothy.” 

“Nonsense-” 



SERIOUS THOUGHTS 


211 


“It is the truth. I know I should be hopelessly 
unhappy myself if I had to go home and live again 
just as they do there. I have been spoiled,” said 
Tavia, her voice growing lugubrious. “I want 
wealth—luxuries—and everything good that 
money buys. Yes, Doro, when it comes my time 
to become engaged, I must get a wealthy man or 
none at all. I shall be put up at auction-” 

“Tavia! How you talk! Ridiculous!” ex¬ 
claimed Dorothy. “You talk like a heathen.” 

“Am one when it comes to money matters,” 
groaned the girl. “I have got to marry 
money-” 

“If Nat White were as poor as a church mouse, 
you’d marry^him in a minute!” 

“Oh—er—well,” sighed Tavia, “Nat is not go¬ 
ing to ask me, I am afraid.” 

“He would in a minute if you’d tell him about 
those Lance Petterby letters.” 

“Don’t you dare tell him, Dorothy Dale!” ex¬ 
claimed Tavia, almost in fear. “You must not. 
Now, promise.” 

“I have promised,” her friend said gloomily. 

“And see that you stick to it. I know,” said 
Tavia, “that I could bring Nat back to me by ex¬ 
plaining. But there should be no need of explain¬ 
ing. He should know that—that—oh, well, 
what’s the use of talking! It’s all off!” and Tavia 
flounced around and buried her nose in the pillow. 




212 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 

Dorothy’s wits were at work, however. In the 
morning she “put a flea in Ned’s ear,’’ as Tavia 
would have said, and Ned hurried off to the tele¬ 
graph office to send a day letter to his brother. 
Dorothy did not censor that telegraph despatch 
or this section of it would never have gone over 
the wire: 

“Come back home and take a squint at the 
cowboy D. has picked out for herself.” 


CHAPTER XXVII 


“it’s all off!” 

By this time even Ned, dense as he sometimes 
showed himself to be, was aware of how things 
stood between the handsome stranger from the 
West and his cousin Dorothy. 

Ned’s heart was particularly warm at this junc¬ 
ture. He spent a good two hours every forenoon 
writing a long letter to Jennie. 

“What under the sun he finds to write about 
gets me,” declared Tavia. “He must indite son¬ 
nets to her eyebrows or the like. I never did be¬ 
lieve that Ned White would fall so low as to be a 
poet.” 

“Love plays funny tricks with us,” sighed Doro¬ 
thy. 

“Huh!” ejaculated Tavia, wide-eyed. “Do you 
feel like writing poetry yourself, Doro Dale? I 
rum!” 

However, to return to Ned, when his letter 
writing was done he was at the beck and call of 
the girls or was off with Garry Knapp for the rest 
of the day. Toward Garry he showed the same 
friendliness that his mother displayed and the 
213 


214 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 


major showed. They all liked the young man 
from Desert City; and they could not help admir¬ 
ing his character, although they could not believe 
him either wise or just to Dorothy. 

The situation was delicate in the extreme. As 
Dorothy and Garry had never approached the sub¬ 
ject of their secret attachment for each other, and 
now, of course, did not speak of it to the others, 
not even Ned could blunder into any opening 
wherein he might “out with his opinion” to the 
Westerner. 

Garry Knapp showed nothing but the most gen¬ 
tlemanly regard for Dorothy. After that first 
evening on the ice, he did not often allow himself 
to be left alone in her company. He knew very 
well wherein his own weakness lay. 

He talked frankly of his future intentions. It 
had been agreed between him and Major Dale 
that the old Knapp ranch should be turned over to 
the Hardin estate lawyers when Garry went back 
West at a price per acre that was generous, as 
Garry said, but not so much above the market 
value that he would be “ashamed to look the law¬ 
yers in the face when he took the money.” 

Just what Garry would do with these few thous¬ 
ands he did not know. His education had been a 
classical one. He had taken up nothing special 
v save mineralogy, and that only because of Uncle 
Terry’s lifelong interest in “prospects.” 


'IT’S ALL OFF!’ 


215 


“I boned like a good fellow,” he told Ned, “on 
that branch just to please the old fellow. Of 
course, I’d tagged along with him on a burro on 
many a prospecting trip when I was a kid, and had 
learned a lot of prospector’s lore from the dear 
old codger. 

“But what the old prospector knows about his 
business is a good deal like what the old-fashioned 
farmer knows about growing things. He does 
certain things because they bring results, but the 
old farmer doesn’t know why. Just so with the 
old-time prospector. Uncle Terry’s scientific 
knowledge of minerals wasn’t a spoonful. I 
showed him things that made his eyes bug out— 
as we say in the West,” and Garry laughed remi¬ 
niscently. 

“I shouldn’t have thought he’d ever have quar¬ 
reled with you,” said Ned, having heard this fact 
from the girls. “You must have been helpful to 
him.” 

“That’s the reef we were wrecked on,” said 
Garry, shaking his head rather sadly. 

“You don’t mean it! How?” queried Ned. 

“Why, I’ll tell you. I don’t talk of it much. 
Of course, you understand Uncle Terry is one of 
the old timers. He’s lived a rough life and as¬ 
sociated with rough men for most of it. And his 
slant on moral questions is not—well—er—what 
yours and mine would be, White.” 


216 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 


“I see,” said Ned, nodding. “You collided on 
a matter of ethics?” 

“As you might say,” admitted Garry. “There 
are abandoned diggings all over the West, espe¬ 
cially where gold was found in rich deposits that 
can now be dug over and, by scientific methods, 
made to yield comfortable fortunes. 

“Why, in the early rush the metal, silver, was 
not thought of! The miners cursed the black stuff 
which got in their way and later proved to be al¬ 
most pure silver ore. Other valuable metals were 
neglected, too. The miners could see nothing but 
yellow. They were gold crazy.” 

“I see,” Ned agreed. “It must have been great 
times out there in those early days.” 

“Ha!” exclaimed Garry. “For every ounce of 
gold mined in the old times there was a man 
wasted. The early gold mining cost more in men 
than a war, believe me! However, that isn’t the 
point, or what I was telling you about. 

“Some time after I left the university Uncle 
Terry wanted me to go off on a prospecting trip 
with him and I went—just for the holiday, you 
understand. These last few years he hasn’t made 
a strike. He has plenty of money, anyway; but 
the wanderlust of the old prospector seizes him 
and he just has to pack up and go. 

“We struck Seeper’s Gulch. It was some strike 
in its day, about thirty years ago. The gold hunt- 


IT’S ALL OFF! : 


217 


ers dug fortunes out of that gulch, and then the 
Chinese came in and raked over and sifted the 
refuse. You’d think there wasn’t ten cents worth 
of valuable metal left in that place, wouldn’t 
you?” 

Ned nodded, keenly interested in the story. 

“Well, that’s what the old man thought. He 
made all kinds of jokes over a squatter’s family 
that had picketed there and were digging and toil¬ 
ing over the played out claims. 

“It seemed that they held legal title to a big 
patch of the gulch. Some sharper had sawed oh 
the claim on them for good, hard-earned money; 
and here they were, broke and desperate. Why! 
there hadn’t been any gold mined there for years 
and years, and their title, although perfectly legal, 
wasn’t worth a cent—or so it seemed. 

“Uncle Terry tried to show them that. They 
were stubborn. They had to be, you see,” said 
Garry, shaking his head. “Every hope they had 
in the world was right in that God-forsaken gulch. 

“Well,” he sighed, “I got to mooning around, 
impatient to be gone, and I found something. It 
was so plain that I wonder I didn’t fall over it 
and break my neck,” and Garry laughed. 

“What was it ? Not gold ?” 

“No. Copper. And a good, healthy lead of 
it. I traced the vein some distance before I would 
believe it myself. And the bulk of it seemed to lie 


218 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 


right inside the boundaries of that supposedly 
worthless claim those poor people had bought. 

“I didn’t dare tell anybody at first. I had to 
figure out how she could be mined (for copper min¬ 
ing isn’t like washing gold dust) and how the ore 
could be taken to the crusher. The old roads were 
pretty good, I found. It wouldn’t be much of a 
haul from Seeper’s Gulch to town. 

“Then I told Uncle Terry—and showed him.” 

Ned waited, looking at Garry curiously. 

“That—that’s where he and I locked horns,” 
sighed Garry. “Uncle Terry was for offering to 
buy the claim for a hundred dollars. He had that 
much in his jeans and the squatters were desperate 
—meat and meal all out and not enough gold in 
the bottom of the pans to color a finger-ring.” 

He was silent again for a moment, and then con¬ 
tinued : 

“I couldn’t see it. To take advantage of the 
ignorance of that poor family wasn’t a square deal. 
Uncle Terry lost his head and then lost his tem¬ 
per. To stop him from making any such deal I 
out with my story and showed those folks just 
where they stood. A little money would start ’em, 
and I lent them that-” 

“But your Uncle Terry?” asked Ned, curiously. 

“Oh, he went off mad. I saw the squatters 
started right and then made for home. I was 
some time getting there-” 




‘IT’S ALL OFF! 1 


219 

“You cleaned yourself out helping the owners 
of the claim?’’ put in Ned, shrewdly. 

“Why—yes, I did. But that was nothing. I’d 
been broke before. I got a job here and there to 
carry me along. But when I reached home Uncle 
Terry had hiked out for Alaska and left a letter 
with a lawyer for me. I was the one bad egg in 
the family,” and Garry laughed rather ruefully, 
“so he said. He’d rather give his money to build 
a rattlesnake home than to me. So that’s where 
we stand to-day. And you see, White, I did not 
exactly prepare myself for any profession or any 
business, depending as I was on Uncle Terry’s 
bounty.” 

“Tough luck,” announced Ned White. 

“It was very foolish on my part. No man 
should look forward to another’s shoes. If I had 
gone ahead with the understanding that I had my 
own row to hoe when I got through school, believe 
me, I should have picked my line long before I 
left the university and prepared accordingly. 

“I figure that I’m set back several years. With 
this little bunch of money your uncle is going to 
pay me for my old ranch I have got to get into 
something that will begin to turn me a penny at 
once. Not so easy to do, Mr. White.” 

“But what about the folks you steered into the 
copper mine?” asked Ned. 

“Oh, they are making out fairly well. It was 


220 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 


no great fortune, but a good paying proposition 
and may keep going for years. Copper is away 
up now, you know. They paid me back the loan 
long ago. But poor old Uncle Terry—well, he is 
still sore, and I guess he will remain so for the 
remainder of his natural. I’m sorry for him.” 

“And not for yourself?” asked Ned, slyly. 

“Why, I’d be glad if he’d back me in something. 
Developing my ranch into wheat land, for in¬ 
stance. Money lies that way, I believe. But it 
takes two or three years to get going and lots of 
money for machinery. Can’t raise wheat out there 
in a small way. It means tractors, and gangplows 
and all such things. Whew! no use thinking of 
that now,” and Garry heaved a final sigh. 

He had not asked Ned to keep the tale to him¬ 
self; therefore, the family knew the particulars 
of Garry Knapp’s trouble with his uncle in a short 
time. It was the one thing needed to make Major 
Dale, at least, desire to keep in touch with the 
young Westerner. 

“I’m not surprised that he looks upon any un¬ 
derstanding with Dorothy in the way he does,” 
the major said to Aunt Winnie. “He is a high- 
minded fellow—no doubt of it. And I believe he 
is no namby-pamby. He will go far before he gets 
through. I’ll prophesy that.” 

“But, my dear Major,” said his sister, with a 
rather tremulous smile, “it may be years before 


‘IT’S ALL OFF!” 


221 


such an honorable young man as Garry Knapp will 
acquire a competence sufficient to encourage him 
to come after our Dorothy.” 

“Well—er-” 

“And they need each other now<” wenl on Mrs. 
Mrs. White, with assurance, “while they are young 
and can get the good of youth and of life itself. 
Not after their hearts are starved by long and im¬ 
patient waiting.” 

“Oh, the young idiot!” growled the major, 
shaking his head. 

Aunt Winnie laughed, although there was still 
a tremor in her voice. “You call him high-minded 
and an idiot-” 

“He is both,” growled Major Dale. “Perhaps, 
to be cynical, one might say that in this day and 
generation the two attributes go together! I—I 
wish I knew the way out.” 

“So do I,” sighed Mrs. White. “For Doro¬ 
thy’s sake,” she added. 

“For both their sakes,” said the major. “For, 
believe me, this young man isn’t having a very 
good time, either.” 

Tavia wished she might “cut the Gordian 
knot,” as she expressed it. Ned would have gladly 
shown Garry a way out of the difficulty. And 
Dorothy Dale could do nothing! 

“What helpless folk we girls are, after all,” she 
confessed to Tavia. “I thought I was being so 




222 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 


bold, so brave, in getting Garry to come East. I 
believed I had solved the problem through fath¬ 
er’s aid. And look at it now! No farther toward 
what I want than before.” 

“Garry Knapp is a—a chump!” exclaimed 
Tavia, with some heat. 

“But a very lovable chump,” added Dorothy, 
smiling patiently. “Oh, dear! It must be his de¬ 
cision, not mine, after all. I tell you, even the 
most modern of girls are helpless in the end. The 
man decides.” 

Nat came back to North Birchland in haste. It 
needed only a word—even from his brother—to 
bring him. Perhaps he would have met Tavia 
as though no misunderstanding had arisen between 
them had she been willing to ignore their difficulty. 

But when he kissed Dorothy and his mother, 
and turned to Tavia, she put out her hand and 
looked Nat sternly in the eye. He knew better 
than to make a joke of his welcome home with 
her. She had raised the barrier herself and she 
meant to keep it up. 

“The next time you kiss me it must be in solemn 
earnest.” 

She had said that to Nat and she proposed to 
abide by it. The old, cordial, happy-go-lucky com¬ 
radeship could never be renewed. Nat realized 
that suddenly and dropped his head as he went 
indoors with his bag. 


'IT’S ALL OFF! 3 


223 


He had returned almost too late to meet Garry 
Knapp after all. The Westerner laughingly pro¬ 
tested that he had loafed long enough. He had 
to run down to New York for a day or so to at¬ 
tend to some business for Bob Douglas and then 
must start West. 

“Come back here before you really start for the 
‘wild and woolly/ ” begged Ned. “We’ll get up a 
real house party-” 

“Tempt me not!” cried Garry, with hand 
raised. “It is hard enough for me to pull my 
freight now. If I came again I’d only have to— 
well! it would be harder, that’s all,” and his 
usually hopeful face was overcast. 

“Remember you leave friends here, my boy,” 
said the major, when he saw the young man alone 
the evening before his departure. “You’ll find no 
friends anywhere who will be more interested in 
your success than these at The Cedars.” 

“I believe you, Major. I wish I could show my 
appreciation of your kindness in a greater degree 
by accepting your offer to help me. But I can’t 
do it. It wouldn’t be right.” 

“No. From your standpoint, I suppose it 
wouldn’t,” admitted the major, with a sigh. “But 
at least you’ll correspond-” 

“Ned and I are going to write each other fre¬ 
quently—we’ve got quite chummy, you know,” 
and Garry laughed. “You shall all hear of me. 




224 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 


And thank you a thousand times for your interest 
Major Dale!” 

“But my interest hasn’t accomplished what I 
wanted it to accomplish,” muttered the old gen¬ 
tleman, as Garry turned away. 

Dorothy showed a brave face when the time 
came for Garry’s departure. She did not make 
an occasion for seeing him alone, as she might 
easily have done. Somehow she felt bound in 
honor—in Garry’s honor—not to try to break 
down his decision. She knew he understood her; 
and she understood Garry. Why make the 
parting harder by any talk about it? 

But Tavia’s observation as Garry was whirled 
away by Ned in the car for the railway station, 
sounded like a knell in Dorothy Dale’s ears. 

“It’s all off!” remarked Tavia. 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


THE CASTAWAYS 

Drifts covered the fences and fitted every ever¬ 
green about The Cedars with a white cap. The 
snow had come quite unexpectedly and in the arms 
of a blizzard. 

For two days and nights the storm had raged 
all over the East. Wires were down and many 
railroad trains were blocked. New York City 
was reported snowbound. 

“I bet old Garry is holed up in the hotel there 
all right,” said Ned. “He’d never have got away 
before the storm.” 

Dorothy hoped Garry had not started for the 
West and had become snowbound in some train; 
but she said nothing about it. 

It took two full days for the roads to be broken 
around North Birchland. And then, of course, to 
use an automobile was quite impossible. 

The Dale boys were naturally delighted, for 
there was no school for several days and snow- 
caves, snowmen and snow monuments of all kind 
were constructed all over the White lawns. 

Nor were Joe and Roger alone in these out-of- 
225 


226 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 


door activities. The girls, as well as Ned and 
Nat, lent their assistance, and Tavia proved to be 
a fine snow sculptor. 

“Always was. Believe I might learn to work 
putty and finally become a great sculptor,” she de¬ 
clared. “At Glenwood they said I had a talent 
for composition.” 

“What kind of figure do you prefer to sculp, 
Tavia?” asked Ned, with curiosity. 

“Oh, I think I should just love a job in an ice¬ 
cream factory, turning out works of art for parties 
and banquets. Or making little figures on New 
Year’s and birthday cakes. And then—think of 
all the nice ‘eats’!” 

“Oh! I’d like to do that,” breathed Roger, with 
round eyes. 

“Now, see,” laughed Dorothy, “you have 
started Roger, perhaps, in a career. He does love 
ice-cream and cake.” 

At least the joke started something else if it did 
not point Roger on the road to fame as an “ice¬ 
cream sculptor.” The boy was inordinately fond 
of goodies and Tavia promised him a treat just 
as soon as ever she could get into town. 

A few days before Tavia had been the recipient 
of a sum of money from home. When he had 
any money himself Mr. Travers never forgot his 
pretty daughter’s need. He was doing very well 
in business now, as well as holding a political po- 


THE CASTAWAYS 


227 


sition that paid a good salary. This money she 
had received was of course burning a hole in 
Tavia’s pocket. She must needs get into town 
as soon as the roads were passable, to buy goodies 
as her contract with Roger called for. 

The horses had not been out of the stable for a 
week and the coachman admitted they needed exer¬ 
cise. So he was to drive Tavia to town directly 
after breakfast. It was washday, however, and 
something had happened to the furnace in the 
laundry. The coachman was general handy man 
about the White premises, and he was called upon 
to fix the furnace just as Tavia—and the horses— 
were ready. 

“But who’ll drive me?” asked Tavia, looking 
askance at the spirited span that the boy from 
the stables was holding. “Goodness! aren’t they 
full of ginger?” 

“Better wait till afternoon,” advised Dorothy. 

“But they are all ready, and so am I. Besides,” 
said Tavia with a glance at Roger’s doleful face, 
“somebody smells disappointment.” 

Roger understood and said, trying to speak 
gruffly: 

“Oh, I don’t mind.” 

“No. I see you don’t,” Tavia returned dryly, 
and just then Nat appeared on the porch in bear¬ 
skin and driving gloves. 

“Get in, Tavia, if you want to go. The horses 


228 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMEN' 


need the work, anyway; and the coachman may be 
all day at that furnace.” 

“Oh—I—ah-” began Tavia. Then she 

closed her lips and marched down the steps and 
got into the cutter. Whatever her feeling about 
the matter, she was not going to attract every¬ 
body’s attention by backing out. 

Nat tucked the robes around her and got in 
himself. Then he gathered up the reins, the boy 
sprang out of the way, and they were off. 

With the runners of the light sleigh humming 
at their heels the horses gathered speed each mo¬ 
ment. Nat hung on to the reins and the roses be¬ 
gan to blow in Tavia’s cheeks and the fire of ex¬ 
citement burn in her eyes. 

How she loved to travel fast! And in riding 
beside Nat the pleasure of speed for her was 
always doubled. Whether it was in the automo¬ 
bile, or behind the galloping blacks, as now, to 
speed along the highways by Nat’s side was a de¬ 
light. 

The snow was packed just right for sleighing 
and the wildly excited span tore into town at racing 
speed. Indeed, so excited were the horses that 
Nat thought it better not to stop anywhere until 
the creatures had got over their first desire to 
run. 

So they swept through the town and out upon 
the road to The Beeches. 



THE CASTAWAYS 


229 

“Don’t mind, do you?” Nat stammered, cast¬ 
ing a quick, sidelong glance at Tavia. 

“Oh, Nat! it’s wonderful!” she gasped, but 
looked straight ahead. 

“Good little sport—the best ever!” groaned 
Nat; but perhaps she did not hear the compliment 
thus wrested from him. 

He turned into the upper road for The Beeches, 
believing it would be more traveled than the other 
highway. In this, however, he was proved mis¬ 
taken in a very few minutes. The road breakers 
had not been far on this highway, so the blacks 
were soon floundering through the drifts and were 
rapidly brought down to a sensible pace. 

“Say! this is altogether too rough,” Nat de¬ 
clared. “It’s no fun being tossed about like beans 
in a sack. I’d better turn ’em around.” 

“You’ll tip us over, Nat,” objected Tavia. 

“Likely to,” admitted the young man. “So 
we’d better both hop out while I perform the 
necessary operation.” 

“Maybe they will get away from you,” she 
cried with some fear. “Be careful.” 

“Watch your Uncle Nat,” he returned lightly. 
“I’ll not let them get away.” 

Tavia was the last person to be cautious; so 
she hopped out into the snow on her side of the 
sleigh while Nat alighted on the other. A sharp 
pull on the bits and the blacks were plunging in 


230 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 


the drift to one side of the half beaten track. 
Tavia stepped well back out of the way. 

The horses breasted the deep snow, snorting 
and tossing their heads. Their spirits were not 
quenched even after this long and hard dash from 
The Cedars. 

The sleigh did go over on its side; but Nat 
righted it quickly. This, however, necessitated 
his letting go of the reins with one hand. 

The next moment the sleigh came with a terrific 
shock into collision with an obstruction. It was a 
log beside the road, completely hidden in the snow. 

Frightened, the horses plunged and kicked. 
The doubletree snapped and the reins were jerked 
from Nat’s grasp. The horses leaped ahead, 
squealing and plunging, tearing the harness com¬ 
pletely from their backs. The sleigh remained 
wedged behind the log; but the animals were freed 
and tore away along the road, back toward North 
Birchland. 

Tavia had made no outcry; but now, in the 
midst of the snow cloud that had been kicked up, 
she saw that Nat was floundering in the drift. 

“Oh, Nat! are you hurt?” she moaned, and ran 
to him. 

But he was already gingerly getting upon his 
feet. He had lost his cap, and the neck of his 
coat, where the big collar flared away, was packed 
with snow. 


THE CASTAWAYS 


231 


“Badly hurt—in my dignity,” he growled. “Oh 
gee, Tavia! Come and scoop some of this snow 
out of my neck.” 

She giggled at that. She could not help it, for 
he looked really funny. Nevertheless she lent 
him some practical aid, and after he had shaken 
himself out of the loose snow and found his cap, 
he could grin himself at the situation. 

“We’re castaway in the snow, just the same, 
old girl,” he said. “What’ll we do—start back 
and go through North Birchland, the beheld of 
all beholders, or take the crossroad back to The 
Cedars—and so save a couple of miles?” 

“Oh, let’s go home the quickest way,” she said. 
“I—I don’t want to be the laughing stock for the 
whole town.” 

“My fault, Tavia. I’m sorry,” he said rue¬ 
fully. 

“No more your fault than it was mine,” she 
said loyally. 

“Oh, yes it was,” he groaned, looking at her 
seriously. “And it always is my fault.” 

“What is always your fault?” she asked him 
but tremulously and stepping back a little. 

“Our scraps, Tavia. Our big scrap. I know 
I ought not to have questioned you about that old 
letter. Oh, hang it, Tavia ! don’t you see just how 
sorry and ashamed I am?” he cried boyishly, put¬ 
ting out both gloved hands to her. 


232 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 


“I—I know this isn’t just the way to tell you— 
or the place. But my heart just aches because of 
that scrap, Tavia. I don’t care how many letters 
you have from other people. I know there’s noth¬ 
ing out of the way in them. I was just jealous— 
and—and mean-” 

“Anybody tell you why Lance Petterby was 
writing to me?” put in Tavia sternly. 

“No. Of course not. Hang Lance Petterby, 
anyway——” 

“Oh, that would be too bad. His wife would 
feel dreadfully if Lance were hung.” 

“What!” 

“I knew you were still jealous of poor Lance,” 
Tavia shot in, wagging her head. “And that word 
proves it.” 

“I don’t care. I said what I meant before I 
knew he was married. Is he?” gasped Nat. 

“Very much so. They’ve got a baby girl and 
Pm its godmother. Octavia Susan Petterby.” 

“Tavia!” Nat whispered still holding out his 
hands. “Do—do you forgive me?” 

“Now! is this a time or a place to talk things 
over?” she demanded apparently inclined to keep 
up the wall. “We are castaway in the snow. 
Bo-o-ooh! we’re likely to freeze here-” 

“I don’t care if I do freeze,” he declared reck¬ 
lessly. “You’ve got to answer me here and now, 
Tavia.” 





THE CASTAWAYS 


233 


“Have I?” with a toss of her head. “Who 
are you to command me, I’d like to know?” Then 
with sudden seriousness and a flood of crimson 
in her face that fairly glorified Tavia Travers: 
“How about that request I told you your mother 
must make Nat? I meant it.’’ 

“See here! See here!” cried the young man, 
tearing off his gloves and dashing them into the 
snow while he struggled to open his bearskin coat 
^nd then the coat beneath. 

From an inner pocket he drew forth a letter 
and opened it so she could read. 

“See!” Nat cried. “It’s from mother. She 
wrote it to me while I was in Boston—before old 
Ned’s telegram came. See what she says here— 
second paragraph, Tavia.” 

The girl read the words with a little intake of 
her breath: 

“And, my dear boy, I know that you have quar¬ 
reled in some way and for some reason with our 
pretty, impetuous Tavia. Do not risk your own 
happiness and hers, Nathaniel, through any stub¬ 
bornness. Tavia is worth breaking one’s pride 
for. She is the girl I hope to see you marry—no¬ 
body else in this wide world could so satisfy me 
as your wife.” 

That was as far as Tavia could read, for her 


234 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 


eyes were misty. She hung her head like a child 
and whispered, as Nat approached: 

“Oh, Nat! Nat! how I doubted her! She is 
so good!” 

He put his arms about her, and she snuggled 
up against the bearskin coat. 

“Say! how about me?” he demanded huskily. 
“Now that the Widder White has asked you to be 
her daughter-in-law, don’t I come into the picture 
at all?” 

Tavia raised her head, looked at him search- 
ingly, and suddenly laid her lips against his eager 
ones. 

“You’re—you’re the whole picture for me, 
Natl” she breathed. 


CHAPTER XXIX 


SOMETHING AMAZING 

Now that Garry Knapp had left The Cedars— 
had passed out of her life forever perhaps— 
Dorothy Dale found herself in a much disturbed 
state of mind. She did not wish to sit and think 
over her situation. If she did she knew she would 
break down. 

She was tempted—oh! sorely tempted—to 
write Garry Knapp all that was in her heart. Her 
cheeks burned when she thought of doing such a 
thing; yet, after all, she was fighting for happiness 
and as she saw it receding from her she grew des¬ 
perate. 

But Dorothy Dale had gone as far as she could. 
She had done her best to bring the man she loved 
into line with her own thought. She had the sat¬ 
isfaction of believing he felt toward her as she did 
toward him. But there matters stood; she could 
do no more. She did not let her mind dwell upon 
this state of affairs; she could not and retain that 
calm expected of Dorothy Dale by the rest of the 
family at The Cedars. It is what is expected of 
us that we accomplish, after all. She had never 
235 


236 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 


been in the habit of giving away to her feelings, 
even as a schoolgirl. Much more was expected of 
her now. 

The older people about her were, of course, 
sympathetic. She would have been glad to get 
away from them for that very reason. When¬ 
ever Tavia looked at her Dorothy saw commis¬ 
eration in her eyes. So, too, with Aunt Winnie 
and the major. Dorothy turned with relief to 
her brothers who had not much thought for any¬ 
thing but fun and frolic. 

Joe and Roger had quite fallen in love with 
Garry Knapp and talked a good deal about him. 
But their talk was innocent enough and was not 
aimed at her. They had not discovered—as they 
had regarding Jennie Hapgood and Ned—that 
their big sister was in the toils of this strange new 
disease that seemed to have smitten the young folk 
at The Cedars. 

On this very day that Tavia had elected to go 
to town and Nat had driven her in the cutter, 
Dorothy put on her wraps for a tramp through 
the snow. As she started toward the back road 
she saw Joe and Roger coming away from the 
kitchen door, having been whisked out by the cook. 

“Take it all and go and don’t youse boys be 
botherin’ me again to-day—and everything behind 
because of the wash,” cried Mary, as the boys 
departed. 


SOMETHING AMAZING 


237 


“What have you been bothering Mary for?” 
asked Dorothy, hailing her brothers. 

“Suet,” said Joe. 

“Oh, do come on, Sister,” cried the eager 
Roger. “We’re going to feed ’em.” 

“Feed what?” asked Dorothy. 

“The bluejays and the clapes and the snow 
buntings,” Roger declared. 

“With suet?” 

“That’s for the jays,” explained Joe. “We’ve 
got plenty of cracked corn and oats for the little 
birds. You see, we tie the chunks of suet up in 
the trees—and you ought to see the bluejays come 
after it!” 

“Do come with us,” begged Roger again, who 
always found a double pleasure in having Dorothy 
attend them on any venture. 

“I don’t know. You boys have grown so you 
can keep ahead of me,” laughed Dorothy. 
“Where are you going—how far?” 

“Up to Snake Hill—there by the gully. Mr. 
Garry Knapp showed us last week,” Joe said. 
“He says he always feeds the birds in the winter 
time out where he lives.” 

Dorothy smiled and nodded. “I should pre¬ 
sume he did,” she said. “He is that kind—isn’t 
he, boys?” 

“He’s bully,” said Roger, with enthusiasm. 

“What kind?” asked Joe, with some caution. 


238 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 


“Just kind,” laughed Dorothy. “Kind to every¬ 
body and everything. Birds and all,” she said. 
But to herself she thought: “Kind to everybody 
but poor little me!” 

However, she went on with her brothers. They 
plowed through the drifts in the back road, but 
found the going not as hard as in the woods. The 
tramp to the edge of the gully into which the boys 
had come so near to plunging on their sled weeks 
before, was quite exhausting. 

This distant spot had been selected because of 
the number of birds that always were to be found 
here, winter or summer. The undergrowth was 
thick and the berries and seeds tempted many of 
the songsters and bright-plumaged birds to re¬ 
main beyond the usual season for migration. 

Then it would be too late for them to fly South 
had they so desired. Now, with the heavy snow 
heaped upon everything edible, the feathered crea¬ 
tures were going to have a time of famine if they 
were not thought of by their human neighbors. 

Sparrows and chicadees are friendly little things 
and will keep close to human habitations in winter; 
but the bluejay, that saucy rascal, is always shy. 
He and his wilder brothers must be fed in the 
woods. 

There were the tracks of the birds—thousands 
and thousands of tracks about the gully. Roger 
began to throw out the grain, scattering it care- 


SOMETHING AMAZING 


239 

fully on the snowcrust, while Joe climbed up the 
first tree with a lump of suet tied to a cord. 

“I got to tie it high,” he told Dorothy, who 
asked him, “’cause otherwise, Mr. Knapp says, 
dogs or foxes, or such like, will get it instead of 
the birds.” 

“Oh, I see,” Dorothy said. “Look where you 
step, Roger. See! the gully is level full of snow. 
What a drift!” 

This was true. The snow lay in the hollow 
from twenty to thirty feet in depth. None of the 
Dales could remember seeing so much snow before. 

Dorothy held the other pieces of suet for Joe 
while he climbed the second tree. It was during 
this process that she suddenly missed Roger. She 
could not hear him nor see him. 

“Roger!” she called. 

“What’s the matter with you?” demanded Joe 
tartly. “You’re scaring the birds.” 

“But Roger is scaring me ,” his sister told him. 
“Look, Joe, from where you are. Can you see 
him? Is he hiding from us?” 

Joe gave a glance around; then he hastened to 
descend the tree. 

“What is it?” asked Dorothy worriedly. 
“What has happened to him?” 

Joe said never a word, but hastened along the 
bank of the gully. They could scarcely distinguish 
the line of the bank in some places and right at 


240 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 

the very steepest part was a wallow in the snow. 
Something had sunk down there and the snow had 
caved in after it! 

“Roger!” gasped Dorothy, her heart beating 
fast and the muscles of her throat tightening. 

“Oh, cricky!” groaned Joe. “He’s gone down.’’ 

It was the steepest and deepest part of the gully. 
Not a sound came up from the huge drift into 
which the smaller boy had evidently tumbled— 
no answer to their cries. 

* * * * * * * 

Dorothy and her brothers had scarcely gone out 
of sight of the house when Major Dale, looking 
from the broad front window of his room, beheld 
a figure plowing through the heaped up snow and 
in at the gateway of The Cedars. It was not Nat 
and it was not Ned; at first he did not recognize 
the man approaching the front door at all. 

Then he suddenly uttered a shout which brought 
the housemaid from her dusting in the hall. 

“Major Dale! what is it, please? Can I do 
anything for you?’’ asked the girl, her hand upon 
her heart. 

“Great glory! did I scare you, Mina?” he de¬ 
manded. “Well! I’m pretty near scared myself. 
Leastways, I am amazed. Run down and open 
the door for Mr. Knapp—and bring him right up 
here.” 

“Mr. Knapp!” cried the maid, and was away 


SOMETHING AMAZING 


241 


on swift feet, for Garry had endeared himself to 
the serving people as well as to the family during 
his brief stay at The Cedars. 

The young man threw aside his outer clothing 
in haste and ran upstairs to the major’s room. 
Dorothy’s father had got up in his excitement 
and was waiting for him with eager eyes. 

“Garry! Garry Knapp!” he exclaimed. “What 
has happened? What has brought you back here, 
my dear boy?” 

Garry was smiling, but it was a grave smile. 
Indeed, something dwelt in the young man’s eyes 
that the major had never seen before. 

“What is it?” repeated the old gentleman, as he 
seized Garry’s hand. 

“Major, I’ve come to ask a favor,” blurted out 
the Westerner. 

“A favor—and at last?” cried Major Dale. 
“It is granted.” 

“Wait till you hear what it is—all of it. First 
I want you to call our bargain off.” 

“What? You don’t want to sell your ranch?” 
gasped the major. 

“No, sir. Things have—well, have changed a 
bit. My ranch is something that I must not sell, 
for I can see a way now to work it myself.” 

“You can, my boy? You can develop it? Then 
the bargain’s off!” cried the major. “I only want 
to see you successful.” 


242 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 


“Thank you, sir. You are more than kind— 
kinder than I have any reason to expect. And I 
presume you think me a fellow of fluctuating in¬ 
tentions, eh?” and he laughed shortly. 

“I am waiting to hear about that, Garry,” said 
the major, eyeing him intently. 

With a thrill in his voice that meant joy, yet 
with eyes that were frankly bedimmed with tears, 
Garry Knapp put a paper into Major Dale’s hand, 
saying: 

“Read that, Major,—read that and tell me what 
you think of it.” 


CHAPTER XXX 


SO IT WAS ALL SETTLED 

“What's this—what’s this, my boy?” cried the 
major hastily adjusting his reading glasses. “A 
telegram? And from the West, eh?” 

“A night letter from Bob Douglas. I got it 
yesterday morning. I’ve been all this time getting 
here, Major. Believe me! the railroads are badly 
blocked.” 

Major Dale was reading the telegram. His 
face flushed and his eyes brightened as he read. 

“This is authentic, Garry?” he Anally asked, 
with shaking voice. 

“Sure. I know Bob Douglas—and Gibson, the 
lawyer, too. Gibson has been in touch with the poor 
old man all the time. I expect Uncle Terry must 
have left the will and all his papers with Gibson 
when he hiked out for Alaska. Poor, poor old 
man! He’s gone without my ever having seen 
him again.” Garry’s voice was broken and he 
turned to look out of the window. 

“Not your fault, my boy,” said the major, clear¬ 
ing his throat. 

“No, sir. But my misfortune. I know now that 
243 


244 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 


the old man loved me or he would not have made 
me rich in the end.” 

Major Dale was reading the long telegram 
again. “Your friend, Mr. Douglas, repeats a 
phrase of the will, it is evident,” he said softly. 
“Your uncle says you are to have his money ‘be¬ 
cause you are too honest to ever make any for 
yourself.’ Do you believe that, Garry?” and his 
eyes suddenly twinkled. 

Garry Knapp blushed and shook his head nega¬ 
tively. “That’s just the old man’s caustic wit,” 
he said. “I’ll make good all right. I’ve got the 
land, and now I’ve got the money to develop 
it-” 

“Major Dale! Where is Miss Dorothy?” 

“Gone out for a tramp in the snow. I heard 
her with the boys,” said the major, smiling. “I 
—I expect, Garry, you wfish to tell her the good 
news?” 

“And something else, Major, if you will permit 
me. 

The old gentleman looked at him searchingly. 
“I am not altogether sure that you deserve to get 
her, Garry. You are a laggard in love,” he said. 
“But you have my best wishes.” 

“You’ll not find me slow that way after this!” 
exclaimed Garry Knapp gaily, as he made for the 
door. 

Thus it was that, having traced Dorothy and 



SO IT WAS ALL SETTLED 


245 


her brothers from the house, the young Westerner 
came upon the site of the accident to Roger just 
as the girl and Joe discovered the disappearance 
of the smaller boy in the deep drift. 

“Run for help, Joe!” Dorothy was crying. 
“Bring somebody! And ropes! No! don’t you 
dare jump into that drift! Then there will be 
two of you lost. Oh!” 

“Hooray!” yelled Joe at that instant. “Here’s 
Mr. Knapp!” 

Dorothy could not understand Garry’s appear¬ 
ance; but she had to believe her eyesight. Before 
the young man, approaching now by great leaps, 
had reached the spot they had explained the 
trouble to him. 

“Don’t be so frightened, Dorothy,” he cried. 
“The boy won’t smother in that snowdrift. He’s 
probably so scared that-” 

Just then a muffled cry came to their ears from 
below in the drifted gulch. 

“He isn’t dead then!” declared Joe. “How’re 
we going to get him out, Mr. Knapp?” 

“By you and Miss Dorothy standing back out 
of danger and letting me burrow there,” said 
Garry. 

He had already thrown aside his coat. Now 
he leaped well out from the edge of the gully 
bank, turning in the air so as to face them as he 
plunged, feet first, into the drift. 



246 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 


It was partially hollowed out underneath—and 
this fact Garry had surmised. The wind had 
blown the snow into the gully, but a hovering 
wreath of the frozen element had tempted Roger 
upon its surface and then treacherously let him 
down into the heart of it. 

Garry plunged through and almost landed upon 
the frightened boy. He groped for him, picked 
him up in his arms, and the next minute Roger’s 
head and shoulders burst through the snow crust 
and he was tossed by Garry out upon the bank. 

“Oh, Garry!” gasped Dorothy, trying to help 
the man up the bank and out of the snow wreath. 
“What ever should we have done without you?” 

“I don’t see what you’re going to do without 
me, anyway,” laughed the young man breath¬ 
lessly, finally recovering his feet. 

“Garry!” 

She looked at him almost in fear, gazing into 
his flushed face. She saw that something had hap¬ 
pened—something that had changed his attitude 
toward her; but she could not guess what it was. 

The boys were laughing, and Joe was beating 
the snow off the clothing of his younger brother. 
They did not notice their elders for the moment. 

“How-Why did you come back, Garry?” 

the girl asked directly. 

“I come back to see if you would let such a 
blundering fellow as I am tell you what is in his 



SO IT WAS ALL SETTLED 


247 


heart,” Garry said softly, looking at her with 
serious gaze. 

“Garry! What has happened?” she mur¬ 
mured. 

He told her quietly, but with a break in his 
voice that betrayed the depth of his feeling for 
his Uncle Terry. “The poor old boy!” he said. 
“If he had only showed me he loved me so while 
he lived—and given me a chance to show him.” 

“It is not your fault,” said Dorothy using the 
words her father had used in commenting upon 
the matter. 

They were standing close together—there in the 
snow, and his arms were about her. Dorothy 
looked up bravely into his face. 

“I—I guess I can’t say it very well, Dorothy. 
But you know how I feel—how much I love you, 
my dear. I’m going to make good out there on the 
old ranch, and then I want to come back here for 
you. Will you wait for me, Dorothy?” 

“I expected to have to wait much longer than 
that, Garry,” Dorothy replied with a tremulous 
sigh. And then as he drew her still closer she 
hid her face on his bosom. 

“Lookut! Lookut!” cried Roger in the back¬ 
ground, suddenly observing the tableau. “What 
do you know about Dorothy and Garry Knapp 
doing it too?” 

“Gee!” growled Joe, in disgust. “It must be 


248 DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT 


catching. Tavia and old Nat will get it. Come 
on away, Roger. Huh! they don’t even know 
we’re on earth.” 

And it was some time before Dorothy Dale and 
‘‘that cowboy person” awoke to the fact that they 
were alone and it was a much longer time still be¬ 
fore they started back for The Cedars, hand in 
hand. 


THE END. 


W> WWY~M[ 


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